Red Ice
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 13) Almost as soon as the Marines arrive at a new base, they're called to action in the frigid northern tips of Norway, and for their bravery, they're invited to a USCM gathering in the capital of Oslo. This should be no big deal, but Drake wishes events could've taken their time, despite knowing fairness is not an option in his life.
1. Chapter 1

I woke up this morning thinking things were going to go as they usually did, but that changed during breakfast. Much like when I started therapy for my post-traumatic stress disorder, my life was turned upside-down, again, but unlike when I started therapy, it didn't look like it was going to turn for the better.

As a Marine with no home, I should be used to and not mind being moved to a faraway location for months, but I was bothered by Apone's announcement that we were going to be moving away from Australia. I guess I've gotten used to this place, even though I don't consider it home. I really wasn't keen on leaving.

"Where're we going, Sarge?" Hudson asked. "Some barren fucking wasteland?"

Apone glared at him. "Watch your shit, Hudson. And, no. We're being transferred to the west coast of Spain, near a town called Hueco."

"'Hollow,'" Vasquez whispered. "What a cheerful name."

"The base is a bit aged, but still usable. We'll be up for missions all across the European and Mediterranean sector. You'll meet a lot of new people, see a lot of new places. For some of you, this may be your first and only chance to go places you'd never go as civilians, so, take advantage of it."

* * *

We all had to start packing for a long flight. I hoped the base had similar conditions to this one: we all had our own rooms, with our own showers, with plenty of space for our stuff. Not only did I want that because I like my privacy, but I also like being able to spend alone-time with Vasquez.

As I was packing, Hudson strolled into my room, saying, "Hey, man, I need help closing my bag."

"You realize you're supposed to fold everything and not shove it all in," I replied.

"I've done it before, man. I just need someone to sit on the bag and let me close it."

"And you realize I've lost a lot of weight, right? You sit on the bag, and I'll close it."

"You just hurt me, man. I haven't been gaining weight."

"You keep sneaking Lorna Doone cookies from the lounge and you will start gaining weight, bud. It's not gonna take long to figure out the connection between the shortage of snacks and the five pounds you put on."

"That's not funny, man." Hudson led me to his room, where his bag was on his bed and spilling clothes everywhere. He didn't hesitate to sit on it, and I heard a snap. "I think that was my fucking toothbrush."

"You know how to raid the lounge, but you didn't figure out that you can go buy better toothbrushes from a civilian store?"

Hudson shook his head.

"Get your priorities straight." I yanked the zipper all the way around his bag. "There. You owe me something now."

"Whaddaya want, man?" Hudson opened a drawer on his nightstand. "I got Hershey's almond bars. I got barbeque-flavored chips. I got bubble gum. I got big-ass cookies and cream bars. I got peanut butter cups. I got M&Ms, Kit Kats, chocolate balls full of hazelnut stuff-"

"You're not taking that all on the plane, are you?"

"I'm not throwing it away, man. I worked for this shit."

"Apone's gonna be pissed when he finds it all."

"He's not gonna find out, though." Hudson opened a secret compartment on his backpack. "No one ever looks in these things."

"It's not all gonna fit."

"I know." Hudson handed me an almond bar. "Help me make it fit, man. Eat what you want, put the rest in the bag."

"I'm not eating all this."

"I can't do it by myself, man."

It didn't take me long to realize that I haven't had candy in awhile. A little bit here and there, but not like a full-size bar of chocolate. Besides, chocolate makes you produce dopamine, which I need right now.

A voice over the PA system let us know that we needed to be done packing in twenty minutes, so Hudson started shoving his candy stash into his bag, and tossing me things that he didn't think would fit.

"I gotta finish packing, too, you know," I said.

"Eat and pack, man, eat and pack."

I went back to my room while dumping a bag of M&Ms in my mouth. My clothes were messily folded before being put in my duffel bag, and my journals were neatly placed alongside them. I occasionally paused to pour more candy into my mouth, and I didn't realize Vasquez was watching me.

"That's not attractive, and you know it, right?" she asked.

"I know," I replied with my mouth full. "Helping out Hudson with his candy stash, that's all."

"What'd you guys do? Hide the evidence in your stomachs?"

"Not all of it. He's putting some of it in his backpack."

Vasquez smirked, and shook her head. "How the fuck did you get roped into helping him do that? You both will get in trouble for contraband."

"Not me. They'll never pin anything on me."

"Oh, yeah? What'd you do with the wrappers?"

"Flushed them down the toilet."

Vasquez was clearly unimpressed with my ingenuity. "I love you, Drake, but you have your moments."

"Thanks. Now, what do you need, because I need to finish packing."

"I came to see if you were finished packing."

"Well, I'm not done packing. If you could help me, that'd be wonderful."

Although she was a little reluctant, Vasquez went ahead and helped me finish packing. I told her about how I'm worried that we won't be able to have any time to ourselves at our new base, and she told me not to worry about it.

"So, you're not concerned that we'll never have a chance to sleep together over the next few months?" I asked.

"No. We shouldn't even be sleeping together here."

"Then why did we?"

"I don't know. We could? It was easier for us to do it without being noticed?"

"But, you're not worried about what could happen to . . . us as a couple?"

"Wow, Drake, you think this is all about whether or not we'll be able to sleep together? Seriously? Is that the most important thing in our relationship to you?"

"No, but it does mean something, right?"

"Of course it does, but it's not the main aspect of it!"

"I'm not saying it's the main aspect of it!"

"The fact that you're worried about it says that you think it is!"

"That is a horrible assumption to make, honey! Never have I _ever_ thought that sleeping together was the central part of our relationship!"

"Stop trying to cover your ass, Drake!"

"I'm not trying to cover my ass!"

Standing in the doorway, Hudson cleared his throat. "Hey, people could hear you guys out there, man. Just letting you know."

We both glared at him, and I said, "Hudson, tell Vasquez that I don't believe sleeping together is the most important part of a relationship?"

"Hey, man, I don't wanna get in the middle of your argument."

"Well, she clearly won't listen to me!"

"Drake, we're fucking leaving soon. There's no time for this."

"Do I look like I give a rat's ass?"

Without much of a warning, Hudson slapped me. "I don't care if you don't give a rat's ass, man! I really don't! And I really don't wanna hear you two argue! It's bad enough we're moving halfway 'cross the globe! Don't make this fucking harder than it needs to be, OK?"

Vasquez looked at me, somewhat confused. I shrugged, then looked at Hudson. "Is there a reason this is bothering you so much?"

"I dunno!"

"Are you feeling OK? You did eat a shit-ton of candy a few minutes ago."

"I feel fine, man! You know what? You two can fight all you want! I don't fucking care!" Hudson stormed out of the room. A few minutes later, we saw him dragging his backpack and duffel bag out into the hall, cursing to himself.

Again, Vasquez looked at me. "What the hell just happened?"

"He pulled a Drake," I said.

"What?"

"He pulled a Drake. He exploded for a reason that only he knows, and it's gonna take us a few days before we find out why."

"It only takes us a few hours to find out why you explode."

"No. It takes you a few days to actually get it and feel bad in the process."

* * *

I'll spare you all the boring details of our excruciating long flight to Europe. In short, Hudson didn't speak to a soul that whole time, and I was feeling bad because I didn't get to say goodbye to Delhoun. I know Delhoun and I haven't spoken in awhile because I was busy with therapy and he was busy with a magazine photoshoot.

I know we can write letters and video chat, but that doesn't beat talking to him in person, and I wish I could've said something before leaving.

This all happened so fast . . . I'm having a hard time putting my thoughts in the correct order.

I'll give it another shot.

When we landed in Spain, we found out rather quickly why the nearby city is called Hueco. It looks like it's been abandoned for quite some time. There were stone buildings covered in patches of moss, and the windows of various apartment and business buildings were dirty and grimy. The roads were covered in potholes and bumps.

I prayed that our base didn't look like this.

I was partially wrong. The base was indeed older than the one in Australia, and a whole lot less nice. Some lights in the hallway were flickering, and the walls were starting to yellow. The floors, in contrast, appeared to be freshly waxed. I feel sorry for the poor souls that had to do that before they left.

What made me really upset were the bedrooms. There were just two bunk beds per room, and no bathrooms. The bathrooms were communal. One for the guys, and one for the girls. At least sick bay was nice; Doctor Ranelli, my therapist, had decent quarters, but not nearly as nice as back in Australia.

"Drake, Hudson, Spunkmeyer, Hicks, you're in room two," Apone said. "Frost, Wierzbowski, Crowe, you're in room three with me. Vasquez, Dietrich, Ferro, you're in room four. Everybody drop your stuff in your assigned rooms and get back out in the hall."

"Just like fucking boot camp," I muttered. "Bunk beds, shitty mattresses, shitty blankets, shitty pillows. I'm gonna need to see a chiropractor after a few days here."

No one was listening to me. Spunkmeyer tossed his bag on a top bunk. "Here, Hicks, you have the bottom rack."

Hicks's condition has continued to change over the last few weeks. The fact that I kinda opened some old wounds for him didn't help. He didn't say anything as he placed his bag on the bottom bunk, and gave a wet cough as he went back out into the hallway.

Apone glanced over all of us, and began his speech. "Alright, people. Welcome to Europe. I know, I know, this base is shit compared to Australia. I understand, but I got no say in where I put you, so, deal with it for the time being. I hope you all know how to behave when it comes to the showers. I don't wanna hear about dick-measuring contests, or idiots standing as far from the urinal as possible when they pee." He looked at Hudson as he said that. "Ladies, I don't want to hear about shampoo and shit getting stolen, and I definitely don't wanna hear about you sharing razors. That's disgusting, and that's how infections spread. Now, I'm well aware that the city of Hueco is abandoned. There is a bus that comes around daily to take you to the inhabited part of the city. Just remember you need passes to get on that bus. If for some reason, you left something back in Australia, let me know. If we can't get it back, I'll give you a pass to go into the city and buy a replacement. If you forgot medication, go to sick bay. If you have regular appointments, those will stay as normal. Don't forget dinner is at sixteen-thirty. Go get settled."

After emptying my duffel bag and backpack, I immediately headed to Ranelli's new office. His office was significantly smaller than the one back on our old base, but that didn't stop him from setting up his tea kettle. And toaster.

"Hello, Drake," Ranelli said, placing massive files into a drawer on his new desk. "Go ahead, have a seat." He glanced at me before taking another stack of files out of his briefcase. "Let me guess: you're not too happy about your new arrangements. I did see those bedrooms, by the way. They look awfully uncomfortable."

"No, I'm not happy about my new arrangements," I replied. "I'm just . . . I'm worried about my relationship with Vasquez and how . . . we won't be able to see each other as often. We do sleep with each other, but . . . this is obviously going to make that downright impossible."

"Is your relationship dependent on how often you sleep with each other?"

"No, but-"

"Then it shouldn't be of any concern to you, or her. You will have other chances throughout the day to say 'I love you,' and, perhaps, you can get creative with that. I don't think losing that aspect of your relationship will result in you drifting apart." Ranelli looked at me. "Do you . . . have sex with her often?"

"Maybe once every . . . two-to-three weeks. I wear protection, so, it's all good."

"Ah. Again, something like that is not the most important part of a romantic relationship. If things start to fall apart, emotionally, for any reason, please, see me. I'll keep it between myself, and you and Vasquez. Your job is simply to establish that you are capable of adapting to any situation you two are thrown into."

I nodded. "OK . . . um . . . can I ask about something else?"

"Of course."

"Hudson overheard our argument-between me and Vasquez. At first, he tried to break it up, but then he exploded and said he didn't care anymore. He didn't seem happy about the fact that we were leaving, and . . . it happened out of nowhere. He was fine just ten minutes before."

Ranelli nodded as I spoke. "It sounds like Hudson may have something he's keeping to himself, and he obviously shouldn't. Clearly, it's becoming quite bothersome, to the point where he's taking his frustration out on people he normally trusts. I would suggest trying to talk to him about it, when you have the time and the privacy."

* * *

It didn't look like I was going to have time or privacy anytime soon. No one was. Everyone was a little baffled at the fact that we had basically been downgraded to a boot camp-like base, and I couldn't disagree with what Spunkmeyer said when we were all sitting in the gym.

"Definitely makes me feel like we're shit at our job."

"We got the short end of a straw, that's all," I replied.

"We got two sick men, and somebody thinks it's a good idea to put them in this hellhole," Dietrich added.

"Hey, if everyone followed through on a petty request of a private, we wouldn't have a Corps anymore," Ferro said. "Deal with it, people."

"I'd rather have explosive diarrhea, man," Hudson mumbled.

"You want explosive diarrhea? Go lick the floor in the showers," said Frost.

"Maybe I will."

"Dear God, Hudson, don't," I sighed.

"Look, we're not being told that we're going to be treated like recruits," Ferro interjected. "I'm pretty sure you'll be allowed to change out your mattresses if you start developing back and neck problems. Some of you are too young for that, though."

"Well, maybe we don't want to get a head start on back and neck problems," I said. "I already need to pop my back once or twice a day."

"If you have a pinched nerve, Drake, come see me," Dietrich replied.

"I'm not looking forward to walking across the hall at night just to fucking pee," Hudson griped.

"Oh, that's just whiny! Grow a pair!" I moaned.

"I'm not looking forward to seeing Hudson's naked ass every Goddamn night," muttered Spunkmeyer.

"Yeah, well, I'm not looking forward to seeing your naked ass, either, man," Hudson snapped.

"Both of you, knock it off!" Vasquez shouted. "Dealing with it is not difficult. We're not going to be here forever. Maybe three months, I don't know. Just stop complaining; that makes it harder to adapt to this shitty place."

"I know one thing; I refuse to spend the holidays here," Spunkmeyer continued. "I'm getting a two-week pass when December rolls around."

"At least you have a home to go back to," I said.

"Shut up, Drake."

I rolled my eyes.

Hudson sighed before standing up. "Fuck you guys. I don't wanna put up with this, man."

"Where're you going?"

"None of your business! Go away."

* * *

 _Question: Is Drake the right person to interrogate Hudson, or is someone else better suited for the job?_

 _Author's Note: To answer a question from the previous book, the game I have to base the story around for my ghostwriting job is Fortnite. I'm well aware this game has been relatively polarizing, but the fact that it has virtually no lore means I can build a story from the ground up, and make it good. It is, however, challenging for me to target it for a younger audience, but I hope that it comes out as well as the Drake stories.  
_

 _The empty city the crew has been transferred to is based off something I saw in a dream. I definitely feel bad for stripping Drake of his daily comforts found in the Australian base. It'll serve as a good test for his relationships with the others, as well as his mental strength._


	2. Chapter 2

There was no way I was going to get to talk to Hudson that day. I've never seen the man in such a foul mood before, and frankly, I wasn't sure when a good time to approach him would be.

Dinner that night was silent. No one wanted to say anything for fear of being told their complaints were invalid, except for Hicks, who kindly pointed out that we were all going to need shower shoes to prevent the spread of any fungal infections.

I'm not sure how to describe how I was feeling, but I know the constant conversations about caution, and the fact that this entire place was cold, dirty, and uncomfortable, were making me feel significantly worse about my place in life.

That's something I don't need right now.

I looked at everyone seated around the table. They were looking down at their trays, eating what they wanted, and pushing away what they didn't. I had an overwhelming urge to say something, anything, to break the silence. Mainly, though, I wanted to feel better before I got worse.

Right after dinner, we had to shower. At least we all got our own lockers, which we could tape our names to. I got undressed along with all the other guys, and I saw just how much of a toll Hicks's illness had taken on him. He had become significantly leaner, and his ribcage was more visible. As soon as he took off his shirt and pants, goosebumps rose all over his skin.

"Better start praying we got hot water," Frost said.

"Weak fucking streams, man," Hudson called from under one of the showerheads.

Spunkmeyer put his hand under the water. "Yeah. Weaker than the time I had a UTI."

The conversation turned away from how shoddy the base was to random topics between others. I still felt pretty disgusting, standing in that tiny room. What made matters worse was the fact that one of the showerheads was angled too close to the doorway, and my towel, which was hanging nearby, got soaking wet.

* * *

I was cold and wet as I walked down to Ranelli's office. Again, he didn't hesitate to let me in, and gave me a cup of white hot chocolate. "I hate this place," I said. "Honest to God, hate it."

"You're not the only one," Ranelli replied. "I'm definitely getting a sense that this place is carrying some negative psychological energy. I took a walk around while you all were at a meal. People have most certainly died here, by their own hand. When you're highly in tune with your emotional senses, it's easy to tell exactly what someone else is feeling. Pain tends to be very residual, death even more so. When you enter a place where someone has died, it lingers. You don't have to be a psychologist to know that. Intense sadness and suffering leaves a trace many can feel."

"Then why would we be stationed here? The USCM knows about . . . what I'm going through, right?"

"Of course they do. That has nothing to do with why we've been put here. Every unit is shuffled around to different locations. Just because people have committed suicide here, doesn't mean that someone within your unit will. Many units have passed through here with no issue. I hope your unit will be the same. It's only been a few hours; you will get used to it. You have a support system, and you can be a support system for others."

I felt like he was hinting at the fact that I needed to be there for Hudson, and Vasquez, and Hicks. That kinda motivated me to try to figure out what was going on with Hudson, so, when I left sick bay, I began looking for him.

I was a little surprised to learn that the base actually had a lounge. However, it needed to be fixed up. The vending machine was empty, the arcade systems were down, as was the TV, and the couches needed a good vacuuming. Hudson was sitting next to a plant, sobbing hard. My guess is that his frustration finally broke open to reveal he wasn't mad at anyone; he was trying to cry for help.

"What's the matter, buddy?" I asked, sitting next to him and putting my arm around his shoulder.

"Nothing you would understand, man!"

"Why do you think I'm not gonna understand?"

"Because you got such a good relationship and I don't know what I'm doing!"

I should've known. "So, this is about Miranda?"

"Yeah."

"You two have been communicating back and forth for the last two weeks?

"Yeah."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. We just talk about what goes on during the day. We haven't expressed interest in seeing each other in person again."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't think I should be the one to do that. Especially now." Hudson covered his face again. "We're not moving forward."

"You're in a long-distance relationship. You're going to move forward at the speed of a tectonic plate." I looked at him. "This is the second time you've exploded over this. Are you sure that . . . everything's OK?"

"I'm sure, man. I just . . . I dunno."

"You're dealing with emotions that you've never felt before."

"Yeah. That."

"So, you actually like her back?"

Hudson nodded. "I mean, she's definitely cute, man, but there's something more. She's interested in who I am. That's not something I've gotten out of previous . . . relationships. Fuck, those weren't even relationships." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Drake."

"Don't feel too bad," I said. "Believe me, I actually do understand. Vasquez and I both weren't all that sure how we were feeling when we fell in love. It took us a little while before we really connected."

"How'd you figure it all out?"

"Talking to each other. You don't have to talk in depth about how you feel, just talk to one another about anything. It'll lead into that deeper conversation you want to have." I patted Hudson's shoulder. "You feel better now?"

"Yeah. Thanks, man."

"This kind of stuff doesn't happen overnight. Take your time, OK?"

Again, Hudson nodded, but he continued to look down, his shoulders slumped. "I can talk to you about anything, right?"

"Yes, you can."

Hudson looked at me, biting his lip. "I want to go home." He took a breath.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Is it because you feel a bit . . . overwhelmed?"

"You could say that, yeah."

I rubbed his shoulder again. "If you want, you can talk to Doctor Ranelli."

"I'm not sick, man."

"I know, but, he really is helpful. I go to him for stuff not related to my therapy."

"I just . . . not right now. I can do this, man. Adapting isn't hard." Hudson covered his face again.

I sighed. "If you want to start crying, go ahead. Not like anyone is looking for us anyway."

Hudson forced himself to not cry. He stayed where he was, hugging his knees and staring into space. He'd sniff a little, but never full-on cried.

I was beginning to think that Ranelli was right about this place exerting a lot of "bad energy" because people had died here, but I also knew Hudson was trying to deal with his emotions regarding Miranda; moving to a new place wasn't helping.

* * *

I'm not gonna lie, I didn't get that much sleep that first night. The pillows were really flat, as were the mattresses, offering no support for anyone's back or neck. Even if I was comfortable, I was still bothered by Hicks's breathing; he was snoring, and congested. Every so often, he'd start coughing, and tried adjusting his position. Long story short, it never worked.

At one point, Hicks turned to face the direction of the bunk Hudson and I were in. I didn't think he could see my eyes, but I heard him say, softly, "You're still up, Drake?"

"Sure am," I replied.

"You feeling OK?"

"I'm just having a hard time falling asleep." I sighed. "Is it bad that I want a better mattress and a real blanket and pillows?"

"No, it's not bad. It's normal. We all want that, but we gotta suck it up and deal with it for now."

"You shouldn't have to; your breathing sounds awful."

"I'll be alright. Supposed to clear up in a week." Hicks adjusted his posture again. "It's not like we're doing anything important tomorrow; we can just stay up and talk."

I pointed to Hudson and Spunkmeyer. "They're sleeping."

"And good for them. The room is small, we're not talking very loud; everything's OK."

"Why do you even want to talk to me?"

"Well, I noticed you're not taking this move very well, and I don't want you to feel like you need to keep your mouth shut about your discomfort. Can't imagine this kind of change coupled with your PTSD is making things easier."

"You're right, it's not. I'm . . . I actually haven't thought about it much because of how . . . disoriented I am."

"I'll tell you one thing; be glad we're still on Earth. We coulda been sent out to a colony or space station. I know last time you were out there, things didn't go so well."

"No need to remind me."

"Try to look at the bright side; Europe, East Asia, and North America are the best places to get stationed. There's more to see and do. You will meet new people, there's no doubt about that. I definitely hope you do. You might meet someone who understands what you're going through and can help you further."

"Yeah, because I look very approachable."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, OK? Give this new chapter in your life a shot, and don't shoot it down so quickly."

It was after that conversation when I managed to fall asleep. Of course, in the morning, I awoke with a rather stiff neck.

It was kinda similar to waking up from cryo. The only difference is that you don't wake up at all hours when you're in cryo. You're out until that tube opens.

I was up before anyone else in the room, and headed down to the mess hall to find Bishop setting out the trays and the food. Apone then emerged from another room, holding a cigar, and said, "'Morning, Drake."

"'Morning, Sarge," I replied.

"First night in a new base is always shit," Apone said, sitting at the table, "but I've never heard so much bitching and moaning from any unit as much as this one."

"Sorry we're all weak and pathetic, sir."

"I was talking about Hudson. Hearing a couple smartass remarks is nothing new from him, but what I heard yesterday was unusual. Care to explain?"

"He's just having some issues with someone he's corresponding with."

"Lemme guess: a girl?"

I nodded. "He's starting to get a grip on his emotions. I found him in the lounge last night and talked to him. Hopefully, he's back to normal, now."

"Good to know you can be counted on, Drake. Heard you complaining quite a bit, but I'll give you a pass since you got your own problems."

I remained silent for a moment, watching Bishop pour glasses of powdered milk. "Sarge, why am I staying in despite having post-traumatic stress?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"No, not really."

"There's your answer."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Drake, if you were a danger to yourself or others, we'd let you go. You accepted help, and you've expressed you don't want to leave, so you're staying until you say you want to leave."

I sighed. "The only reason I'm staying is because I got nowhere to go, and . . . I know I'm here because I fucked up and I was given a chance to redeem myself. So far, I don't feel better about myself or that I've righted my wrongs or that I can go back to the civilian world and start over."

"Believe it or not, I've heard something similar from Hicks."

"I can believe that."

"Yeah. All I'm trying to say is that you're not alone here. Other people have gone through hard times and pushed through. I have no reason to think that you won't. The fact that you tried to comfort Hudson last night is a sign of growth." Apone looked at me, a smile on his face. "I'm guessing that's something you've been wanting to hear, that you're growing inside."

I nodded. "I'd like to know that I'm being appreciated, sir."

"You are. If I didn't appreciate you, I would've kicked you out a long time ago. If Hicks didn't appreciate you, he wouldn't have tried to help you at the first sign something was wrong with you. I'm pretty sure the rest of the squad appreciates you, too. You gotta get past that cloud in your head that's telling you that you're worth nothing."

* * *

 _Question: Do these stories work better with more dialogue, or more description?_

 _Author's Note: This morning, I submitted an email to Fanfiction's support staff about adding Drake to the character list under the Aliens/Predator category. I thought I had done everything correctly, but when I looked at the sent message, I saw that I had skipped a word. The message was still sent, but the fact that I made a typo makes the email read like I'm stupid. That's been bothering me all day. I'm hoping the suggestion isn't rejected because of that typo._


	3. Chapter 3

I won't bore you with the details of how our first week in Spain went, but I will say that we made the best of our situation by pitching in to clean up the lounge.

Apone gave us unlimited lounge privileges, but if someone screwed up, they lost those privileges. There were plenty of rules, like no gambling and no heavy drinking. I think some of the guys were fine with the no-heavy-drinking rule, but they were going to find a way around the no-gambling one. That always happens; it explains why Hudson tags along with me whenever I need bathroom supplies because he has no money and guilt-trips me into buying his toothpaste and body wash for him. The only thing that keeps me from saying no is the fact that I don't want to smell him, but I also remind him that he owes me thirty bucks for all the bottles of body wash and tubes of toothpaste I've gotten for him.

Anyway, the first week really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and I look back at my stupid ramblings and see that I had been bitter and stubborn. At least Ranelli was able to help me examine my thoughts and let me know that I wasn't a bad person for thinking the way I did when I first came here. It was completely normal and probably a good thing that I was writing them down, otherwise I would've built up a lot of frustrations that could have turned into a nasty explosion.

Similar to Hudson.

Speaking of him, I was glad to see he was back to his goofy self again. I think we could've used that when we first got here. Although Apone didn't want any shenanigans in the bathroom, we had plenty of those once Hudson was feeling better.

"Are you pissing in the shower?" Frost asked.

"Yeah, why?" Hudson replied.

"Dude, that's disgusting."

"I'm angling it toward the drain, man."

That didn't stop the rest of us from avoiding that part of the shower. Needless to say, Hudson had to mop the whole shower floor with bleach afterward.

The same night he pissed in the shower, Hudson refused to let anyone sleep. I was about to drop off when Hudson started playing with a whoopee cushion (where he go it, I don't know, so don't ask me). He had it under his blanket, so he pressed it, and said, "Drake, man, did you have extra milk tonight?"

"No," I sighed, figuring it was better to just play along with him.

"Spunkmeyer, was it you, man?"

"It was clearly, you, dumbass, it came from your fucking bed," Spunkmeyer grunted.

"Wasn't me, man. Bet it was Hicks."

Hicks was fast asleep.

"Definitely Hicks, man."

"Alright," I sighed, leaning over the side of my bunk. "Gimme the cushion."

"I don't have a cushion, man."

"Give it or I come down there, steal your blanket, and beat your face in the floor."

Without another word, Hudson gave me the whoopee cushion.

"You coulda come up with some less childish, buddy," I said, opening one of the drawers on the side of the rack and tossing the cushion inside.

"Good job, Drake," Spunkmeyer added.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, can we all go to sleep, please? Thank you."

I allowed myself to smile as I lay back down, actually feeling a little proud of myself.

The morning after that, I managed to have some alone-time with Vasquez. No one really goes to the lounge in the morning, so we snuck over there to kiss by the vending machines.

Huh. Now that I think about it, that sounds like something you'd do in high school.

Anyway, I stood with my arms around Vasquez's waist, and she with her arms around my neck. We hugged each other tightly, and didn't say a word. Then, we kissed. I'll be honest, we usually don't do the passionate kisses you see in the movies, because ours don't last long. It's very rare that Vasquez goes for a long kiss. I don't do long kisses, either. I'm more of a nuzzle guy.

We haven't had the chance to cuddle in bed for a few days, so our kiss went longer than it usually does. We stood and stared in each other's eyes afterward, and I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"I miss having my own room," Vasquez said. "All Ferro and Dietrich do is talk. Ferro's nice to be around, but I can't talk to her about things the way I can with you and Hudson."

"Aww, you trust Hudson now?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"Well, yeah, considering you've been calling him 'stupid' since day one."

"I told him about . . . my past, and you told him about us, so, I trust him now." Vasquez looked up at me. "You were kinda right; I . . . actually miss sleeping next to you. I don't think it's gonna wreck our relationship if we don't do it, but I do know that . . . the fact that I miss being so close to you means that . . . I don't ever want to leave you." She sighed. "I know that sounds cheesy, but-"

"It's not cheesy," I said. "I miss talking about all the little things with you at night. Hudson is resorting to using a whoopee cushion to play the extremely lame 'did you fart?' joke. Hicks snores. Spunkmeyer just wants to sleep and doesn't want to bother with conversation."

"Maybe we should call Delhoun and get hooked up for a 'mission' in D.C. again."

"Yeah. And take Hudson with us."

"Why?"

"He needs to talk to Miranda. They . . . kinda have a thing for each other, and I want to see them succeed at being in a romantic relationship."

"I'd ask 'why,' Drake, but I'm not going to."

"They need to spend some time with each other in person. Hudson needs to get all his ducks in a row and get a grip on his emotions. He can't do that unless he and Miranda are in the same room together, working out their feelings. You get what I'm saying? We did that when we got a chance to be alone at smartgun training."

"Miranda has no backbone, and Hudson is a very poor choice for her to have as a boyfriend. She needs someone who can back her up and give her some confidence. Hudson isn't that."

"How do you know?"

"We both have spent a lot of time around him. He doesn't know how to help someone who has difficulties with their . . . emotions . . ." Vasquez glanced at me, and sighed. "Drake, I'm sorry."

I laughed. "You forgot I've been finding him helpful?"

"Yeah, I kinda did."

"Hey, it's alright. We all forget the little things sometime." I kissed her forehead again. "I still love you. I'll never get mad if you accidentally forget something when we're living on our own together."

"I doubt it."

"Aww, don't doubt me, honey. Have I ever broken a promise?"

"Drake-"

"Have I?"

"You've lied to me."

"Never out of malice. Besides, when we're on our own, I'll never lie to you."

"Why don't you start right now?"

"Deal." I shook her hand before kissing it. "And that's a promise I'll keep. No more lying to you."

Vasquez grinned before gripping my hand, shaking it roughly. I was about to go in for a nuzzle when the lounge door opened, and Hudson walked in, saying, "Am I interrupting anything important?"

"You could've knocked," I said.

"Well, I didn't know you were in here, man." Hudson looked out the window. "It's gonna be a nice day. Why don't we get passes to go into the city?"

"I got my therapy session in half-an-hour," I replied.

"After? Just the three of us?"

I thought for a moment. "Ask Hicks if he wants to come. I think he'd appreciate the gesture."

* * *

I sat in Doctor Ranelli's office while waiting for him. He usually ran a few minutes late, so it wasn't a big deal. Honestly, he does have a bad habit of leaving his papers all over his desk, so, I was tempted to see what his plan for me was today.

Standing up, I walked over to his desk, glancing at the pile of documents he was keeping on me. He simply had " _Thought analysis_ " written under today's date, which meant we were doing pretty much the same thing as yesterday. As I sat back down, Ranelli walked into the room, whistling, only pausing to say, "Good morning, Drake."

"'Morning," I replied, not making eye contact with him.

"Cheery, aren't we?"

"Not cheery, but not . . . grumpy, either. Somewhere in the middle, I guess."

"I knew that. I was being sarcastic." Ranelli put on his coat on a hook next to an empty bookshelf. The hook promptly fell off the wall. "Damn. I need to screw that thing in better. Anyway, how has your morning been so far, Drake?"

"It's been OK. I managed to get some time alone with Vasquez."

"Ah. And you two still have a fully functioning secretive relationship?"

I nodded.

"Well, then, I'm happy for you. You see? You are capable of having small moments on occasion here with your girlfriend." Ranelli opened his briefcase, taking out a small bottle of apple cider. "Now, do you prefer your cider with or without some cinnamon sticks?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It's too early for an addition of rum, so you'll have to make do with cinnamon sticks."

I sighed silently. Some people might enjoy being pampered with hot drinks, but I don't, mainly because I feel like I don't deserve that kind of stuff. That's something I have to work on.

Ranelli sat across from me, placing the two cups of heated cider on coasters. "Right, let's get down to our daily business. How are you feeling?"

"I already mentioned I'm happier because I spent time with Vasquez. I mean, I'm not . . . sad, or angry. I guess I'm finally in that neutral spot."

"Consider that an achievement. You've definitely moved up with your mood. Let's try to keep that up. How well did you sleep last night?"

"I slept . . . alright. Woke up a few times because Hicks's snoring is so bad. And Hudson was playing with a whoopee cushion."

Ranelli frowned. "That's certainly childish, even for him."

"I said that, too. Anyway, I could've gotten better sleep, for sure."

"Any nightmares?"

"Not for the last few days. Weird dreams, but not . . . not nightmares."

Ranelli nodded, jotting something down in his notepad. "Hopefully, this little uplift in your mood can remain throughout the day. When something at all positive happens to you, do those feelings stay for very long?"

"No. I feel very tired after being happy. I don't understand how those feelings can be so light, and yet be so draining."

"It's not a feeling you're used to having. Think of it as exercise; at first, you're not that good at lifting a weight. The more you practice and train, the better you'll get, and the easier it will be to lift. The same can be said for happiness."

"Why is happiness so difficult, though? Why doesn't it stick around?"

"The entire combination of things you're dealing with right now. That includes your PTSD, your living environment, your physical health, the relationships you have with others, your job, how others see you, and how you see yourself. It's a massive conglomerate of sadness, anger, and frustration. Naturally, PTSD has the heaviest effect. Your living environment has been downgraded. Your physical health is somewhat poor. I've noticed you're still struggling to improve your bonds with other members of your squad. Your job doesn't permit you very much freedom. I've also noticed that a few people don't see you in a positive light. Finally, your self-esteem is very, very low. You pretty much hate yourself, often for things you can't control."

I nodded. "That's . . . all true."

"It has to change, but, it's not going to change overnight. In order for you to start making these changes, we're going to start with changing how you see yourself. Right now, at this moment, what do you think of yourself?"

"I think I'm . . . pathetic. I feel like people look at me and want to stay away from me because I look unfriendly and sad and grumpy. No one wants to be around someone like that. I feel guilty whenever people want to help me because I don't feel like I deserve it. I've never done anything to help anyone. All the time, I feel guilty. I can't get my past to just stop following me. I regret a lot that I do, and I feel like all I do is hurt those that care about me. I mean, I've argued with Vasquez over the stupidest things. I've been very mean to Hudson. I dug up Hicks's past and proceeded to kick the dirt in his face."

"Do you put in the effort to apologize and make up with Vasquez?"

"Yes."

"Have you improved your relationship with Hudson? Gotten a chance to better understand each other?"

"Getting there, but . . . not fully there yet."

"Did you make up with Hicks?"

"I feel like he's accepted what happened. I still feel like I should . . ." A knot of frustration rose into my chest from my stomach. "I still feel like I should throw myself at his boots or run away or just . . . just disappear." Tears began stinging my eyes.

As always, Ranelli slid a tissue box in front of me. "This probably stems from the fact that Hicks has shown a considerable amount of care for your mental well-being, the likes of which hasn't been shown by anyone else. Remember this, he's doing that because he's feeling something similar. He felt guilty about the loss of someone close to him, as well as several incidents like it. This is sort of creating a magnet effect, where two of the same poles are trying to come together, and simply cannot, because it's impossible. Guilt and guilt generally don't mesh well. You need to break past this aura of guilt that you've built up around yourself, and allow Hicks to give you the help you've clearly needed the last few months."

"Why not the other way around?"

"Hicks is already on the path to coping with what happened in his life. When you learn to cope with yours, you'll be able to do the same for someone else."

"OK, I . . . guess that makes sense."

"It's good that you think that. Admitting it is half the battle." Ranelli smiled.

There was a part of me that wanted to smile whenever he did. I know he's trained to do all this, but when he smiled, it meant I was making progress. I just hope I can keep that up.

* * *

It looks as though the original inhabitants of Hueco just packed up and moved further up the coast. When you look at a map, the small city is a good fifty miles away from Barcelona. At least we're allowed to go there; we just have to plan a day in advance and get up at five in the morning so we can spend the day there.

The bus stopped in a picturesque little city that looked like something you'd see in a travel book. Just over the railing along the sidewalk was a seemingly endless beach and the Mediterranean Sea. It wasn't very crowded, and there were a few people laying in lawnchairs, enjoying the aspect of doing nothing, probably dozing as well.

A pang of jealousy began slowly wrenching my heart. Even if I could go lie down on a chair, I wouldn't be able to relax.

"Shoulda brought my swimsuit, man," Hudson announced.

"Remind yourself for next time," Hicks replied.

"There's a lot of cute little shops here," Vasquez said. "Think we should look around?"

"A little reminder that your paydays are next week. Hope you all have been wise with your spending," Hicks said.

"We haven't spent anything in the last three weeks," I sighed.

"We're all responsible adults," Vasquez added. "Well, Drake and I are. Not sure about jackass over here." She gestured to Hudson.

"Don't go over forty bucks, alright?" Hicks put his hands in his pockets.

I waited until Vasquez and Hudson went their own way before approaching Hicks. "Are you OK? You don't usually . . . get on us about money."

"Just needed something to put my mind on. Really didn't expect you guys to invite me out here."

"Did you not want to come?"

"It wasn't something I planned on doing, but I went along with it. Figured I needed to get outside anyway. Can we find somewhere to sit?"

It didn't take long to see why Hicks was trying to put his mind on something else. He looked really distant, but it wasn't because of something I did wrong.

"You know how I said I was supposed to get better in a week?"

"Yeah?"

"It's been a week. I know why nothing's changing, though. I think I've been swallowing that silver gunk at night."

"I thought the pill was supposed to prevent that."

"No. I just feel very, very sick in the morning, to the point where I throw up. All I'm throwing up is silver."

"Maybe the pill's too weak. Or maybe this a really bad case of the flu. Whichever it is, no one wants to see you go back to a hospital."

"Not sure I got a choice, there, Drake. I already sent a message to Doctor Hornby about whether or not I can take a stronger antibiotic. He gave me the go-ahead, so I talked to Dietrich about it. Hopefully, I see some results."

"I'm really sorry this's going on. I just . . . I wish I could've . . . helped you sooner."

"You weren't there when Jenzi put the dead flower in my bag. Please, don't feel guilty over it. You got better, Hudson got better. There's no reason to believe I won't get better. If it takes time, so be it. I just hope I get better before the holidays."

"You never take leave, though."

"That's not true. Just because I'm a lifer doesn't mean I don't go home. Besides, if something goes wrong, and I'm forced to retire, it's nice knowing I got somewhere to go."

"So . . . wait, you can get a house while in the Marines?"

"If you have the money and feel like you can manage your payments, sure you can. Kinda surprised you didn't know that." Hicks studied the look on my face for a moment. "At your rate, I don't think you should start looking around yet. Keep accumulating your money, and then start putting yourself together. Also, wait until you get further along in your therapy. Your state of emotion could lead to impulse buying, and that's rarely a good thing. You understand what I'm saying? I'm not trying to dissuade you from doing something you feel is important; I'm trying to make sure you get that goal and get it properly."

I felt like a door had been opened, and then swiftly slammed in my face.

* * *

 _Question: Would it be worse for Drake to convince himself a civilian life is impossible, or impulse buy?_

 _Author's Note: For this chapter, I Googled "different types of kisses" and "hot apple cider recipes." Why? To make things interesting. I kinda wanted to see what kind of kisses suit Drake and Vasquez as a couple, and there were a lot of weird ones that made me wonder just how bored some people would have to be to try them. Hey, if I'm gonna write fluff, I'm gonna make it sweet, but not too sweet. And the hot apple cider was because . . . hot apple cider is awesome._


	4. Chapter 4

There's not too much to say regarding our outing in the city. The real meat of this entry lies in when we got back to base. Instead of being able to go to our rooms or the gym or the lounge, we were directed to the mission briefing room. The four of us sat with rest of the squad, and Apone pulled up a map of Europe on the screen in front of us. The country of Norway was highlighted.

"Anyone wanna take a guess at what we're doing?" Apone asked.

Hudson raised his hand. "Going on a ski trip, Sarge?"

"Absolutely not. Put your hand down and don't say anything unless I ask you something. No, we're not going on a Goddamn ski trip. About twenty miles from the Norwegian-Finnish border is a research facility for alien animals brought back from LV-400."

"Lemme guess, we're going on pest control?"

"I did not tell you to speak, Hudson. To put it in simple terms for those of you who only have one functioning brain cell, yes, this is pest control." Apone turned toward the screen, pressing a button on his remote. An image of a large, white bat-like creature with huge, pointed ears and big, red eyes appeared. There were three small, pink ridges on its upper back, and it was baring sharp teeth. "This here is what you're controlling. They are around four feet tall with a nine-foot wingspan."

"That's a big sumbitch," Spunkmeyer muttered.

"You bet it is. One scientist has already been killed by one. There are around forty animals in that facility, all broken out. Your mission is twofold: get the remaining scientists out, and take care of the bats."

"That means shoot all of them, right?" I asked.

"They wouldn't have called us if they didn't want that."

"Just give us our smartguns and drop us in," Vasquez said, grabbing my wrist.

"Hold your horses, Vasquez. Getting in there isn't gonna be easy. The mountain pass is blocked by snow, and the train that usually brings supplies is stuck on a trellis. People are trapped and they can't just walk in through the tunnel because of the bats. You're going to be parachuting in. APCs are a no-go."

I haven't done anything with parachutes since boot camp. Just thinking about dropping out of a plane with nothing but the hope that I'll pull the ripcord made my stomach turn awkwardly.

* * *

We didn't have much time to really think about anything. As soon as the briefing was over, we had to start preparing for the flight to Norway.

Remember how my smartgun and armor were lost in that mission to Indonesia? Well, I got both replaced. I'll be honest, my new smartgun is never going to be like my old one, but I still paid homage to it by scrawling the words "my bitch" on the side of it. I can't fully remember why I wrote that on my old one, but I did and it stuck.

As I sat in the armory with my new chestplate, I took it off after making sure it fit, and switched my gaze between the messy jars of paint and small carving tools people had used to personalize their stuff. I took one of the sharp tools and was about to put it to the front of my chestplate when I changed my mind. I really didn't want people asking why I put a fucking pawprint on my armor, so I turned it over, etching it right on the spot that would be against my heart.

As you can probably tell, I miss Delhoun and his Annexers, and that was taking my mind back to when I was on LV-400, being bonded to an Annexer I nicknamed Little Shit. You may also remember he gave me a hollow, heart-shaped gemstone full of my own tears. I guess it doesn't make a lot of sense for me to be bringing something so seemingly insignificant up, but Apone mentioning that the research facility we're going to was specially designed for animals brought from that planet dug up some memories.

When I got back to Australia after my sentence on the station, I tucked the gem away in the pocket of my dress uniform. I didn't want to think about LV-400, and I was beginning my long and arduous journey with post-traumatic stress disorder. Since then, I just haven't bothered with it.

My sessions with Ranelli have taught me a few things, though, and one of them is to think about what could've happened if certain events in my past didn't happen? I needed to start thinking about them differently, and how there was a reason behind all of it, and that single reason was to make me a better person.

"Better" doesn't mean I become sweet and kind and selfless. I had thought that for a long time, which is why I resisted it. "Better" means I know myself and how my mind works. "Better" means I improve my relationship with people who care about me. "Better" means understanding what I want, and not feeling so lost all the time.

Anyway, I don't regret meeting Delhoun and befriending him, and I don't regret getting to know the Annexers. They've taught me a lot about myself. That's why I'm drawing an Annexer's pawprint on the inside of my armor, close to my heart.

Their center pad is shaped like that of a cat or dog, but it's slightly longer. Instead of one pad per digit, there were two small, thin pads, tipped with claws. Like humans, they've got four regular fingers, and one opposable thumb.

As I finished up the print, I decided to paint it a dark gray, so it could stand out just a little bit from the black of my armor. A slight smile cross my face as I stared at it, waiting for the paint to dry. At least it's the quick-dry stuff. I then put on my armor, grabbed my smartgun, and headed out to where the others were gathered.

We were ushered out to a waiting troop transport plane. Ferro and Spunkmeyer jogged into the cockpit, quickly punching in the coordinates to Norway. I grabbed a parachute and began hooking it over my armor. Everything was pressed against my front, and I could feel my heartbeat, which made me uneasy. The thermal bodysuit was tight against my skin, as was the rest of my Arctic gear.

Apone came around and made sure everyone was buckled in. "Alright, people, no horseplay back here."

"Keep your hands and feet in the ride at all times, man," Hudson chirped.

"Especially you, Hudson," Crowe said.

"Trust me, man, I'm not moving. I got a bad wedgie from this thermal suit we're wearing."

"No one wants to know," Vasquez sighed.

Ferro confirmed the plane was in working order. In a few short minutes, we lurched upward, and I felt my stomach get yanked to the back of its cavity. I'm usually not nervous about drops, but, like I said before, I haven't done a parachute drop. I didn't even know it was possible for smartgunners to do a parachute drop (it is, you just have to tuck the weapon under the front of your harness and don't let it get caught in the chute itself).

"You're really pale, Drake," Frost said. "Feeling alright over there?"

"I'm OK," I replied. "Haven't done anything like this since boot camp."

"Just remember to pull the cord. No big deal."

I nodded, pretending to be reassured.

I won't bore you with the details of the flight. Even Hudson was strangely quiet. The weather deteriorated as we drew closer to the Arctic Circle. Heavy wind tossed the plane around, and everyone tightened their braces just in case we needed to make an emergency landing.

Apone's voice filled our headsets. "Start taking off your braces, people. We're entering the drop zone."

 _I think I'm going to puke._ I took a deep breath as I undid the brace across my lap. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, and my armor plate, for that matter.

Hicks was already out of his seat. "Quick check on your chutes." He walked around, looking over everyone's harness. "Looking good, looking good. Everybody up-"

The hatch on the side of the plane opened up.

" _Go, go, GO!_ " Hicks shoved out Hudson, then Frost, then Wierzbowski.

Then me.

I was smacked in the face by freezing air. Wind was screaming in my ears, but the pounding blood was louder. I felt everything in my belly shoot up into my chest. All I could see was snow and bare rock poking out of the mountainsides, rushing toward me.

To my right, Hudson freefell a few more feet before yanking out his ripcord. A large pale-gray chute erupted from the pack strapped to his armor, and he was falling more gently down to the snow.

I took that as a sign I should probably deploy my chute as well, and did. I heard the chute fly out from my pack, and I was jerked back in my harness. Holding the cords, I looked around, suddenly feeling less anxious. That ended when the wind began pushing me toward one of the mountains instead of through the pass as planned.

 _Shit._ I tried moving the chute away from the mountain, and just narrowly dodged being smacked against it.

Hudson wasn't as lucky. He was able to avoid flying right into the mountain, but his chute was ripped on a sharp rock protruding from a snowy ledge. I watched him be yanked backward, and freefall, upside-down, to the snow below.

His panicked screaming tore through the deepest parts of my soul. I was in physical pain listening to it.

The snow blocking the pass must have been very soft. Hudson stuck the snow, back-first, and tumbled down to the other side of the pass. From where I was, in the air, I couldn't tell if he had been knocked unconscious. He didn't stop until he reached the bottom of the massive pile of snow, and lay on his left side, unmoving.

When we landed, we dropped our parachute packs and dashed over to Hudson. The snow was deep, but we slogged through it as fast as we could. Hudson was trying to sit up as we made our way to him.

"Are you OK?" Hicks asked.

"Bruised my ass, man, but I'm OK," Hudson replied.

"Jesus, you sounded like you were going to die!" I shouted over the wind.

"I thought I was gonna die, man, but then I hit the snow and realized I was gonna be OK. Here, help me up, man." Hudson got up, brushing the snow off. He then looked at me, and said, "Does someone need a hug?"

Hicks sighed. "Hudson, we don't have time-"

I received a tight hug, and a couple pats on the back from Hudson. I would've hugged him back if we were in private.

* * *

We hiked about a mile in below-freezing temperatures to get to this research facility. I wouldn't be surprised if I had managed to lose ten or more pounds in that hike alone. Maybe that's why clinics use devices that literally freeze the fat right off your body.

The research facility had been built into the side of a mountain. We came to a parking lot full of vehicles that were covered in snow and ice. Vasquez and I positioned ourselves in front of the main doors with our smartguns, hoping and praying nothing leapt out at us when Hudson broke the lock and opened the doors.

The doors slid open. Nothing jumped out at us, but we were greeted with a dark lobby-and a corpse with its intestines strewn all over the place. The pinkish coils were laying in a massive pool of blood, and we noticed, on closer examination, that some of them had been chewed on.

"This is probably the scientist that was killed," Hicks said. "Throat's been ripped out, too."

"Fucking mess," Vasquez whispered.

Apone sighed. "Alright, listen up. Drake, Hicks, Hudson, you three take the north hallway. Vasquez, Crowe, Frost, you take the west wing. Wierzbowski, you're staying here with me, and we'll take a look at the east side. Get moving."

We hadn't gotten too far into the hallway when the three of us came across an android, sitting on the floor with its torso almost ripped to shreds. We were about to assume he was gone, but we all jumped when he started moving.

I'm not that familiar with how many different models are out there, but I know (or at least heard) the Samuels model is over forty years old. It's not in production anymore, not since the Bishop model came out. I've never actually seen one in person, but I know they're one of the cheapest models to acquire on the used market for home assistance.

"Are you here to help?" he asked, holding a hand out to us. "Not sure how the bats got out. I make sure their enclosures are locked."

"Yes, we're here to help," Hicks replied. "Where are the rest of the scientists?"

"They're barricaded in the mess hall. Keep going straight, and take a right at the end of the hallway. You'll see some double doors. Please, be careful. I don't know if the bats are still waiting out there."

"We'll be fine," I said. "We came prepared."

Hicks pressed a button on his helmet. "Sir, the scientists are barricaded in the mess hall. Not sure if any hostiles are-"

"I got movement getting closer to us!" Hudson shouted while looking at his motion tracker. "Drake, watch your head!"

I heard a squawking before I saw a huge, white shape flying toward us. Raising my smartgun, I fired several rounds before seeing the large bat hit the ground in a bloody mess.

"Change of plans," Hicks said, helping Samuels stand up. "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

"They're all gathered up in here!" Vasquez shouted over our headsets. "They're just-"

All we heard was static.

At least Hicks was out of earshot when I started panicking. "Vasquez? Honey, can you hear me?"

"Relax, Drake," Hudson replied. "Just relax."

"No, I gotta go find her."

Hudson lifted his pulse rifle. "Behind you, man!"

"Keep pressing forward!" Hicks yelled. "Don't let 'em pile up on you!"

"Hicks, is your vitals monitor broken?" Dietrich asked.

"No . . . why?"

"Your temperature is dropping."

 _Toxic discharge sets in when a person with silver flower poisoning is exposed to extreme cold. But what happens when they're on medication?_ I shot down another bat before turning to face Hicks. "Hudson, we gotta get into the mess hall, now."

"What's going on, man?" Hudson asked.

"We need to get Hicks warm. Go, now!"

* * *

 _Question: Is the action suspenseful, even though we know the Marines all survive? How could it work better?_

 _Author's Note: More good news; I started working on another side story to go along with the main series, but I'm not divulging any hints or spoilers.  
_

 _Out of all the stuff from Alien: Isolation, the Samuels android was definitely deserving of more time in the spotlight. Come on, who didn't cry when he got deactivated?_


	5. Chapter 5

Hudson approached the door to the mess hall, noting the chairs blocking it on the other side. He knocked three times, and a pale man in a white lab coat jogged over. "Open the door, man!" Hudson yelled.

The man pushed aside one of the chairs, and opened the left door. "Is everything safe?" he asked.

"Not yet, but we're getting there." Hudson watched as I dragged in Hicks. "We got a bit of a situation."

There were around fifteen men and women huddled in the room. Some had bloodstains on their clothes, and others had bandaged wounds, presumably from the bat creatures.

"How long have you people been in here?" Hudson asked.

"Well over a day," the man who answered the door replied. "Thank the Lord there're bathrooms here, and plenty of food to go around. We probably could've survived here a few more days."

"What exactly happened?"

"Doctor Killian-I assume you saw his body when you arrived-he went into the enclosure to give the bats food . . . that's it. One of them attacked him. Don't know why."

I had Hicks sit on the ground. He was shivering, and unable to comprehend what was going on. I looked around, and said to the group of scientists, "Do you have anything hot? Like coffee or something?"

A blonde woman jumped up and ran into the kitchen. The man from earlier said, "Hypothermia?"

"No. Toxic discharge." At that point, I really didn't care if no one in the room knew what I was talking about. I took the coffee from the woman when she returned, and tried giving it to Hicks. He was still conscious enough to take it, but I had to help him the whole way.

When it seemed like Hicks was going to avoid the worst, he began heating up. He grabbed his head, grunting in pain.

"Help me take his helmet off," I said to Hudson. "Let some cold air in."

"Isn't that what caused the issue in the first place?" Hudson asked.

"You tell me a way to get his fever down!"

"OK, man, relax." Hudson loosened the straps of Hicks's helmet, carefully prying it from his head. "Aw, shit, man."

Silver fluid was starting to run like blood from Hicks's nose, and from the sides of his mouth.

"What the hell do we do now?"

"I don't know!" I found my breath becoming shallow. I found myself not focusing on helping Hicks. My mind was starting to blur, and my horrific memories came into focus. The moment I realized something was horribly wrong when I had toxic discharge was when I was weak and dizzy by a water cooler. I had collapsed and was gripped in hot, throbbing pain. I was feeling that again.

"Drake? Hey, snap out of it, man." Hudson was shaking me as I knelt on the floor, holding my head. "You gotta focus, man."

"Real smart of the USCM to send a unit with two sick men in to save us," someone among the scientists muttered.

"You shut the fuck up," Hudson snapped. "We're the ones doing the saving, and I can damn well toss you out to the bats if you start accusing us of being incompetent, pal." He made a slashing motion over his throat, and turned back to me. "Come on, Drake. Whatever you're thinking about isn't real. You're OK."

The memory of waking up and seeing Doctor Hornby was playing out almost perfectly in my head. As he was pulling down his mask, I could faintly hear Hudson telling me that this wasn't real, and I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, man, you can pull through this. Hicks needs you, man."

I drew in a deep breath, forcing myself out of that memory.

"You in there?"

I nodded, resisting a sob.

Hudson patted my shoulder. "You're alright, Drake." He got on his knees next to Hicks, who was lying on his back, unconscious. Hudson pressed the radio button on his helmet. "Dietrich, we're gonna need some help here."

"Where are you, Hudson?" Dietrich replied.

"We're in the mess hall. All the scientists are in here, too. Hicks is burning up, man. We gotta do something before his temp goes up even higher."

"I'm working on that. Trying to get Hornby on sat call. Ferro, any luck on that signal?"

"Weather's not cooperating that well," Ferro replied.

"Shit," Hudson hissed.

"What's going on?" the blonde woman who got the coffee for us asked.

"We're trying to get help, but we can't get a good signal."

"Try connecting to our dishes. That should work."

"Hey, Ferro? One of the ladies here says to try connecting to their satellite dishes."

"Got it."

I looked down at Hicks. His eyes were open now, and very dilated. A lot of static was heard over my headset before the voice of Doctor Hornby came in relatively clear.

"Drake . . . Drake, can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you," I said. "We need help. Hicks went into toxic discharge. His temperature is spiking."

"The medicine should kick in."

"I'd think it'd fucking kick in a long time ago! He's still sick-"

"Will you calm down, man?" Hudson asked.

"Hicks should never have been exposed to Arctic conditions in the first place," Hornby said, sternly. "Now, listen very carefully, all of you. The medication is going to kick in, and it's likely not going to be pretty. The hormone is going to activate at a rapid pace, and I don't want anyone getting hurt. Are there any soft blankets?"

I looked at the scientists. "Blankets. Who's got a blanket?"

"They're in our sleeping quarters," someone replied. "We can't go out there! The bloody bats are-"

"I'm going out there, man." Hudson got up.

" _No!_ No, I'll do it," I said.

Hudson opened his mouth to argue, but then decided against it. He then glanced in the direction of the kitchen. "Can I have some of that coffee?"

Adjusting my smartgun, I got the directions to the sleeping quarters, and went out into the hallway. I went out into dead silence. I could hear the occasional screech of a bat coming from the east wing of the complex, followed by muffled fire from a pulse rifle. Soon, the only sounds I heard were my heartbeat and my breathing.

And something scratching at a window.

Without warning, I quickly turned to my left, spraying bullets into the window of a small lab. The glass shattered, but I didn't see what made the scratching noise, nor did I hear any screeching. The smoke cleared, and then a black shape crawling onto the table in front of the window. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was just an Annexer.

It seemed completely unfazed at the fact that I nearly blew it apart. It sat on its haunches, and tilted its head at me. Finally, it took off its helmet, and I could tell from the lack of white streaks on its head that it was a young male. He stretched out of the broken window, sniffing me.

 _I don't have time for this._ I was about to keep walking when the Annexer jumped onto my left shoulder. He made a cooing sound, and then began nuzzling my head. "I'm just a fucking magnet for you guys, aren't I?" I mumbled. "Hey-I don't appreciate fur in my mouth."

He suddenly stopped rubbing on me, and tensed up. A big bat flew out of the darkness, screaming and heading right for us. The Annexer got on his hind legs, and hissed. Using my head for balance, he extended his claws and swiped at the bat's head. I felt blood spray on my face.

The bat was on the ground, covering its head with its wings. The Annexer jumped from my shoulder, and began approaching it, very slowly.

Then he charged.

The two animals rolled around on the floor, scratching, biting, and screeching. I saw fur flying from both of them. At one point, the bat was able to grab the Annexer in its clawed feet, using them to fling him down the hallway. Once I knew the Annexer was out of the way, I opened fire on the bat.

"OK, he's down," I said, seeing the Annexer gallop back toward me. "You alright, there?"

He gave me a squeak, and leapt back up onto my shoulders.

I continued on my task to get a blanket from the sleeping quarters of one of the scientists. When I came to the door leading to the living section, I radioed Hudson. "How's everything going?"

"So far, so good, man," Hudson replied.

"Hicks hasn't gone nuts."

"Um . . . he kinda already has. We're all just staying on one side of the room while he . . . does his thing, I guess."

"Well, what the hell is he doing?"

"He's acting confused, kinda sniffing stuff and looking at everything. We're trying not to move or make a lot of noise, man."

"Look, I don't know how long it's gonna take me to get this blanket. There are bats hiding all over, so it might be awhile. I'm trying to go as fast as I can." I opened the door, then closed it behind me to prevent any bats from coming in. I did a quick sweep, breathing a slight sigh of relief when I found there were no bats in the quarters at all.

 _Hornby said a soft blanket. Soft . . . soft . . . this isn't soft._ I ran my finger along a blanket in someone's room, finding it was made of wool. I went into another person's room, and found their blanket was very, very soft. Yanking it off the bed, I went back to the door, and a bat appeared in front of it. Hanging from the ceiling, the bat opened its jaws, showing me two rows of bloody, sharp teeth. It flapped its massive wings against the glass, as if it was trying to break in. I backed away, and the bat's eyes seemed to follow me. It flapped harder against the door, and screeched.

I stuffed the blanket in my backpack, and set a secondary weapon case on the floor. After carefully taking off my smartgun, I unzipped the weapon case, pulling out the parts to a flamethrower. The bat shrieked excitedly, then tried bashing its skull against the door. I screwed the fuel canister into the gun itself, and backed up a little further.

When the trigger was squeezed, a bright jet of fire flew from the muzzle, striking the door. An alarm started blaring, and the bat seemed both confused and frightened. It flew down the hall, and I hastily put my armor back on. I slung both my backpack and the flamethrower over my shoulder. The Annexer dashed into the hallway when I opened the door, only to be promptly attacked by a waiting bat.

Ten bats were flying around the hall. One had the Annexer in its claws, and the rest descended on me. I set several of them on fire, and watched the fur and skin burn right off their bones and muscles. The sprinkler system activated, meaning my flamethrower was now useless. As I tried to switch to my smartgun, I was attacked from behind. A bat knocked me to the ground, and pinned my head down. It screeched out to one of its buddies, who turned me on my side. The bat grabbed the straps of my armor in its teeth, trying to tear it from my body. I tried squirming away, but couldn't.

The Annexer leapt at the bat holding me down with his jaws open and claws extended, knocking it into the wall. I heard a wet rip, and turned to see the Annexer had partially torn the bat's head from its shoulders. Blood gushed out, mixing with the water from the sprinklers. I scrambled to my feet, shoving the other bat off me. As another one was about to charge me, the Annexer used my shoulder to launch himself at the attacking bat. That gave me time to aim my smartgun, and I finished off the remaining bats.

The screams died down, and the sprinkler system eventually deactivated. I was standing in a mess of blood and burned flesh, although, the smell wasn't that bad. I kinda wondered how space-bat would taste.

Giving me a soft coo, the Annexer put his helmet back on before returning to my shoulders. A part of me was curious to see if there were any other Annexers around the facility, but I knew I had to help Hicks first. I jogged back down to the mess hall, but I couldn't enter the room just yet. I could see Hudson guarding the scientists while sitting on a table, his pulse rifle across his lap. Hicks was walking around the room, slowly. He was shivering, and there was silver fluid around his mouth, nose, and under his eyes.

I pulled the blanket out of my backpack, and pressed a button on my headset. "OK, Hornby, what do I do with the blanket?"

"It needs to be gently put around Hicks's head," Hornby replied.

Swallowing nervously, I walked into the room, cautiously. Hicks was staring at something in the corner of the room, and then he stumbled in the direction of Hudson and the scientists. Someone in the back of the group covered a scream, but the muffled sound still made Hicks glare at them.

I unfurled the blanket, and then I threw it over Hicks. He tried swinging his fist at me, but struck air. I grabbed him, holding him still despite him writhing in my arms. "Now what, Hornby?!"

"Pull the blanket tightly around his head."

"He'll suffocate!"

"He'll relax. The fear of suffocation will tell him to stop fighting."

I sighed, grabbed a bunch of the blanket in my fist, and pulled tightly. Hicks breathed hard for a few seconds, then gradually began to relax. I loosened my grip on the blanket, allowing Hicks to take a deep, calm breath. "Hornby, is that all?"

"Should be."

"He's got fluid coming out of his eyes, nose, and mouth. Is that . . . normal?"

"It means the pill's doing its job, Drake."

"How do we keep this from happening again? We're still not done here."

"Keep him in a warm area. When you're ready to leave, cover his nose and mouth with the blanket. It won't prevent everything, but it will provide some warmth."

I didn't respond. I kept holding the blanket over Hicks, wondering if he had returned to reality. A minute passed before I heard him say, "You can let go now, Drake."

When I let go, Hicks pulled the blanket off himself, and looked around, a little confused. The drainage of the silver fluid had slowed, and he was still shivering. I draped the blanket over his shoulders, wondering if that would do any good.

"Is everyone OK?" Hicks asked.

"Everyone's fine," I said. That was when I remembered Vasquez cutting out on me before we had to rush Hicks into the mess hall. "I _think_ everyone's fine. You need to rest."

"I'll rest at home. What's the status on the rest of the squad?"

I sighed again, tapping my headset. "Frost, what's going on where you are?"

"Just set fire to a big nest of bats, Drake," Frost replied. "Is Hicks alright?"

"He's going to be fine. How's Vasquez? She cut out when I last spoke to her."

"She's fine. Bat knocked her headset off. Man, she was pissed. I think she did most of the killing here."

I grinned to myself. "Does this mean we're good?"

"Not a chance." Apone tuned in to our conversation. "We still need to clear the back cavern so the train can get in here."

"Shit. Hicks can't be out in the elements, Sarge-"

"I can handle this," Hicks interrupted.

"No, you can't, man," Hudson said.

"Yes, I _can!_ "

"Hicks, you're gonna keep your ass where it's planted," Apone snapped. "You can complain when we get back to base."

* * *

 _Question: How has Drake's decision-making process changed over the course of the series? Has he improved, or are rash decisions better at keeping him in-character?_

 _Author's Note: I knew, at some point, I needed to include the flamethrower in the action. It's an iconic weapon and Drake looks like a total badass handling it in his final seconds in the movie.  
_

 _At first, I wanted to have a scene where Drake tries using his flamethrower to keep Hicks warm, but after thinking about how he'd go about it, I found it didn't make sense. I mean, it's a flamethrower, not a lighter._


	6. Chapter 6

Hudson and I met up with the rest of the squadron in a wide tunnel leading to the cavern. It was agreed that Vasquez and I would enter the cavern first, with Hudson and Frost alongside us, mainly because we won't be able to effectively dodge any bats.

As we headed down the tunnel, I noticed that my little Annexer friend had disappeared. I figured he had gone off to hide, or stay with Hicks. Either way, I needed to stay focused.

The tunnel opened into a huge space in the side of the mountain. A set of train tracks confirmed that this was where the facility has its supplies dropped off. I could see outside the cave that the train was waiting, waiting for the bats to leave.

The ceiling of the cavern was covered in white and red. Twenty pairs of translucent wings spread, followed by a chorus of screeching. Vasquez opened fire on the bats, knocking several right to the icy ground. The rest immediately charged her, and most were quickly destroyed by our smartguns.

A horrific scream suddenly filled the cavern, and it wasn't from the bats. I looked to my left to see three bats had Wierzbowski pinned down. They had already removed his armor, and were ripping apart his thermal suit to get at his chest and belly.

"I gotcha, man- _oof!_ " Hudson had the wind (and consciousness) knocked out of him when a bat flew down to swat his head with its wing. Swiftly, three other bats descended on him to pick him apart.

Frost blasted the bats apart with his pulse rifle before running over to put Wierzbowski over his shoulder. Blood was trickling from slashes made just under Wierzbowski's ribs. Crowe raced over to grab Hudson, whose nose was bleeding from his face striking the ground.

I moved aside so Frost and Crowe could drag the wounded back into the tunnel, where they would be tended to by Dietrich. A bat latched onto my shoulders, and I dropped my smartgun.

One of the things we're taught almost as soon as we get to smartgun training class is _never ever drop your fucking weapon_. Smartguns are called "heavy weapons" for a reason. If you drop your weapon, consider yourself lucky if the connecting piece to your hip breaks. Sometimes, that thing won't break. If it doesn't, the first thing you should do is try to drop with your gun. If that doesn't happen, pray that it tears your armor off. If _that_ doesn't happen, pray you don't tear up the muscles in your lower back.

I was focusing on the bat on my shoulders, so I couldn't drop with my smartgun. The armor and connector piece I got were brand-new, so they weren't going to break that easily. As I tried to grab the bat, I felt that severe yank in the lower half of my torso. The bat could see me struggling, and dug its claws into my shoulders. It then lifted me off the ground. It strained with the added weight of my smartgun, until a second bat grabbed my left arm to assist his buddy. The two bats then held me against the frozen wall of the cavern, while two other bats flew over to rip my armor plate off. The chestplate and smartgun clattered to the ground, and I saw the pawprint I etched was exposed for the world to see.

The bats were surrounding me to protect their companions while they used their teeth to rip a hole in my jacket and thermal suit. I figured they were going to do exactly what they did to the scientist we found at the start of the mission-tear out my intestines and eat them.

"You sick son-of-a-bitch," I muttered.

A bat screamed in my face.

I was expecting this to be relatively quick, but what I didn't expect was a herd of thirty Annexers running into the cavern through a second tunnel. The bats tried reaching safety by flying back up to the ceiling, but were getting shot by Vasquez. Some were brave enough to fly out of the cave entirely, but others were attacking the Annexers, and a few went toward the Marines.

The bats holding me were completely unsure of what to do. I expected them to just drop me, but, instead, I was swatted over the head by a wing, and was unconscious before I hit the ground.

* * *

I felt something warm and soft being draped over me, and faintly heard Dietrich yelling, "You people need to help me keep everyone warm, dammit! Don't just sit there! Can you stop moving for five minutes and keep your head level, Hudson?!"

"I thig the bleedig stobbed, ban," Hudson moaned.

"No, it didn't. Take the whole tissue box-no, don't throw the dirty ones on the floor!"

"God, by head hurts! I wanna lie down!"

"You're not lying down until your nose stops bleeding. Can you stop complaining so I can focus on my other patients?"

My vision was slowly coming into focus, and my hearing became less muffled. Dietrich was over Wierzbowski, peering underneath his bandages. She then knelt by me. "Oh, good, you're coming around. How's your head, Drake?"

"Hurts like hell, but the last thing I want is ice," I groaned.

"Well, you're getting ice." Dietrich placed an icepack under my head, and glanced to her right. "Hudson, don't shove the tissue up your nose." She whirled around to pull the wadded-up tissue from Hudson's nose, and gave him some fresh ones. "You're not five years old! Pinch your fucking bridge and keep your head level!" Once Hudson was acting his age, Dietrich looked back at me. "Anything else hurt? You had some nasty cuts on your shoulders."

"I feel kinda sick, but I know for damn sure I got nothing in my stomach," I said. "Where am I?"

"In the mess hall."

"Is anyone else hurt?"

"Just you, Wierzbowski, and dumbass. And Hicks is here because Apone said so."

"Is everyone else still in the cavern?"

"Right before you came to, I just got word that the cavern's been cleared and the supply train is coming in. You four are gonna ride in the back of the plane with me when we go home."

"When are we going back to base?"

"Next hour or so. The train's crew said they can take over from here. Right now, I gotta get you guys bundled up so you don't freeze to death as soon as we run outside."

"The bleedig stobbed!" Hudson announced.

"Good," Dietrich replied, glancing at him. "Oh, don't touch the clot! That's disgusting!"

She waited a few more minutes before making Hudson lie down on his stretcher. With the help of the scientists, Dietrich got me, Hudson, Wierzbowski, and Hicks wrapped tightly in three layers of blankets. Pillows were shoved under our heads, and we lay there, unable to move, for over forty minutes.

"Hurry up! Let's go! Get them outta here and on the plane! Go, move it!" Dietrich shouted as Crowe and Frost grabbed Wierzbowski's stretcher and ran with him out to the waiting plane. A minute later, they came back for me.

I wasn't fond of being bounced around, and I especially didn't appreciate being hit in the face with freezing air. The wind was howling, and I was pretty sure it was late at night as the snow seemed to appear from nowhere. Crowe and Frost placed me in a small rack, and pulled the straps around my stretcher tightly before running back to get Hudson.

As I closed my eyes to try and sleep, I heard someone walking into the back of the plane, and opened my eyes to see Ferro. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"I got knocked out," I said. "Knocked unconscious, I mean."

"So, just a headache, I'm guessing?"

"Pretty much. Not gonna deny I'm absolutely exhausted."

Ferro looked like she wanted to say more, but she stopped, and sighed. "Rest up, OK?"

I nodded, and tried moving a little just to loosen the blankets up and get somewhat comfortable. I managed to lay on the left side of my face, leaving my right cheek exposed. A short second later, Ferro returned. She paused, thinking I was asleep, and then kissed my cheek.

I think my heart actually stopped for a few seconds. My thoughts came to a screeching halt, and soon, there were only two thoughts circling around my mind: "Why?" and "Vasquez is going to kill me."

* * *

I'm surprised I managed to sleep for most of the ride back to base. There was a point where Dietrich gave me a mild painkiller, Hudson was spitting bloody loogies into a tissue, and Hicks was muttering about how he would've been fine and less people would have gotten hurt if he was in the action.

When we were an hour away from Spain, I couldn't sleep anymore. I wanted food, water, and a hot bath, though, I sighed when I remembered that a hot bath isn't possible anymore. It made me wish Delhoun would randomly send me to D.C. again, just so I could enjoy all the luxuries a hotel room has to offer.

I spent that hour trying to put my thoughts back together. They were centered on Ferro kissing my cheek. I know she said she wasn't interested in pursuing a "more than friends" relationship, but I'm not in her head. Things can change. Maybe she found something about me attractive. Maybe I didn't do a good job selling that I'm not available. If that was the case, Vasquez was going to be _really_ pissed.

The best thing I had to do was tell her the truth as soon as possible.

I made that a priority when we got back to base. After getting a quick checkup, I headed down to the girls' room, finding the three of them unpacking their duffel bags. "Hey, Vasquez, can I talk to you for a minute? Need help putting my smartgun back together."

Without a word, Vasquez followed me out into the hallway. We went into the armory, closing the door behind us.

I took a deep breath, and said, "Ferro kissed me."

"When?"

"After I was put in the plane. We talked a little, and when she thought I was sleeping, she kissed my cheek."

"Which one?"

"The right one."

Vasquez slapped the right side of my face, then kissed it.

"What should I do? I can't tell her about us."

"Do you trust her?"

"Not fully. Look . . . I don't want to tell her about us, but I also don't want her . . . trying to get a romantic relationship with me."

"Drake, I know for a fact you have two good balls down there. You can tell her that you're not interested."

"How? What if she goes and tells the others?"

"They're going to say it's because you and I are a thing. Of course, we're going to deny that."

"What if she gets suspicious?"

"Big deal."

I sighed. "You were really pissed when I told Hudson, and you were even more pissed about Miranda."

"Because you learned from your mistakes and you told me as soon as you could." Vasquez smiled. "I'm proud of you."

"Would you tell me if somebody kissed you?"

"Yeah. I haven't had to tell you because no one's ever made advances toward me."

"Good. If I ever find out someone did that, I'd knock their lights out."

"I'd knock them out first."

"Could I do the cleanup, then?"

"Sure."

I gently pulled her closer. "You know, we can go cuddle in the laundry room. There're a couple of corners we can hide in."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Right now."

In order to make it look like we weren't doing anything suspicious, we went into our rooms with baskets to get dirty laundry. As I entered my room, I noticed Hicks was lying in his bunk, looking a little sad. "You OK?" I asked.

"Are you all serious that I wouldn't have made it through the rest of the mission?" Hicks replied.

"Yes. I had toxic discharge. It's not fun. You got lucky, because mine was caught kinda late."

Hicks sighed. "I just gotta learn to let it go, and move on. That's all I gotta do."

"Look, if you feel bad, I get it. You wanted to contribute, and that's OK. Back there wasn't the right time."

"Still, you and Wierzbowski, and subsequently Hudson, wouldn't have gotten hurt if I'd been there."

"Well, maybe that was something beyond your control. The bats were after our intestines, and your presence wouldn't have changed that."

"I'm just saying that I could've provided some extra firepower. I don't want to feel responsible for anyone under my command getting hurt."

"You're not responsible." I dropped the last of my laundry in the basket and picked it up. "Believe me, that's something I gotta work on, too."

* * *

Vasquez and I had a good cuddle session in the laundry room, but we both knew it would've been better in a bed. Still, we made the best of what we had, and loved every minute.

Thinking about having a real bed reminded me of the conversation I had with Hicks when we visited Hueco, about how it was possible I could buy a house and not be homeless anymore. However, Hicks also said that I needed more time and really think about what I was doing, but that didn't mean I couldn't bring it up with Vasquez.

She listened as I explained that conversation, and she replied, "Do you think you could maintain a house until your stint's up?"

"Maintain the payments? Yeah. Just fill out a check and mail it. No big deal."

"Drake, there's more than that. What about electrical and plumbing and all that crap? You'd have to see that."

"I can take leave."

"You don't have a lot of time for that. You'd have to leave someone in charge, and you're running the risk of somebody not trustworthy taking care of your house. Did you think about that at all?"

"Not . . . really."

"That's probably what Hicks was referring to when he said you need to think seriously about this. Besides, where the fuck do you want to live?"

"Outside D.C. Remember how we talked about moving there and waiting in case one of us got discharged before the other? They do have really nice suburbs, with lovely views of the Potomac River. Come on, it'd be great. We'll be able to go into the city regularly, and meet new people, and just make a better life for ourselves."

"I'm gonna have to think about it, Drake. I'd like to accomplish some things as well when I get out, but I don't want to settle down right away."

My heart broke a little. "But, I thought we talked about . . . living together and starting over together. You don't want that?"

"No, I do want that, but I also want learn something so I can at least survive in the civilian world. Smartgunners don't have a place in the civilian world. I need to acquire a new skill for that."

"Sweetheart, we went to prison. There is not a single place of higher learning that is gonna let either of us in because we're both convicted murderers."

"But we got this chance at redemption, and the USCM is going to provide us with resources and recommendations on where to go if we want a college education."

"Look, if you wanna do that, fine. I'm more comfortable working a dirty job that doesn't require a degree. I think you'd be more comfortable doing that as well. There are a ton of jobs out there that don't require a degree, and plenty of companies hire veterans regardless of what their job was in the Marines. Do you get that? I don't want to see you miserable. Hudson even said that getting a college education would make us miserable."

"Hudson doesn't know us as well as he thinks he does."

"Alright, what do you even want to do? What could you possibly want that requires a degree?"

Vasquez paused. It looked like the thoughts in her head just froze, and she couldn't get any words out. "I . . . I don't know."

"I think you're afraid of something. What is it?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Obviously, you don't want to live together when we get out-"

"Of course I want to live with you! Stop assuming shit like that, Drake."

"Then why are you fighting my idea that we get a house now, so we have somewhere to go when we leave?"

"Because I don't want to think about that right now. I'm not ready. I'm not ready to own a house. I'm not ready to find a civilian job." She choked on a sob. "I'm not ready to get married. I'm not ready to be a mother. Y-You're trying to rush into things because you think that having all that will mean you're starting over, but you don't understand that . . . you have to be mentally and emotionally ready for that, and . . . we're just not. I need time to think. You need time to think. Accept that you're not ready yet, Drake."

Deep down, I know I'm not ready. I don't understand why I couldn't say that upfront. Part of me thinks it's because I don't want to worry about the problems I have now, at this moment. I don't want to worry about my PTSD, I don't want to worry about my guilt, I don't want to worry about my relationship with the other squad members. I'd rather think about something else.

* * *

Usually, when Vasquez and I have an argument, I seek advice from someone else. Today, I didn't, and that wasn't a smart idea. Considering we had all just got back from an intense mission, I wanted to be alone. No one was in the showers, so I grabbed a change of clothes and headed in there.

I stood under the water, my mind wandering in a thousand places. I just couldn't believe that I was trying to ignore my problems like this.

There was a point where I forgot the showers were communal, and started crying. I then heard a familiar, and slightly nasally, voice say, "Who's in here crying, man?"

Thank God it was only Hudson. "I'm in here," I said.

"What's the matter, Drake?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."

"I think you do. Please? I'm your best friend, man."

I tried my best to explain what happened with me and Vasquez. As I got out with a towel wrapped around my waist, I saw Hudson standing in the doorway between the lockers and the shower room. His nose was still covered in dry blood. For a moment, he thought about his response, and then shrugged.

"I dunno, man. I . . . wouldn't say you're ready to go out into the civilian world just yet. If you did, I can see you getting fired from a lot of jobs. You can't shut down there the way you do here."

"How do I fix that, and show that I'm ready?"

"Keep going to your therapy, man. That's all I can say. Sorry. Wish I could be more helpful." Hudson patted my shoulder. "Hey, I got faith in you, Drake. I wanna see you happy."

My heart broke a little more, because I was convinced he was never going to see me happy. Ever.

* * *

 _Question: Should the questions continue, or have I run out of ideas?_

 _Author's Note: I remember starting the series of the questions back in "Grey Hearts" with "how does this series change your viewing of Aliens?" People thought it was a good idea, and I liked it because it provided more interaction. I'm starting to think of simply posting comments, because I can't give direct responses to guest reviews. What I wonder is whether or not guests would return to see my post above theirs, or if I should just stick to notes at the end of each chapter._


	7. Chapter 7

It's safe to say that by mid-October, many of us were thinking about the holidays and going home for a few weeks. The talk of "home" simply made me depressed, because, again, I don't have one, and it became really tempting to talk to someone about real estate. Even though I don't know squat about buying a house.

Late one morning, Apone ordered me down to the phone center on base because I had a call. Not surprisingly, it was Delhoun.

"You didn't bother with a goodbye when you found out your unit was being moved?" Delhoun asked. He wasn't actually upset, but I wasn't in the mood for sarcasm right now.

"You were kinda busy," I replied.

"Well, Winnie really misses you. She sits and cries by the main entrance because she thinks you're going to come back."

I felt like someone grabbed my heart and twisted it. "Tell her I'm sorry."

"Don't be too sorry. We'll likely meet up again during the Christmas season."

"How?"

"You didn't hear? There's going to be a big party in Oslo, much like the one in Brisbane a few months ago."

"I don't do parties."

"Unless you have somewhere else to go, you don't have much of a choice. Besides, Winnie wants to see you again."

I sighed. "Fine." An idea sprung to mind. "Hey, can you . . . do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Do you think . . . you can get Miranda Harrison into the party? Her and Hudson are writing back and forth, and I think it'd be better for them to talk face-to-face."

Delhoun was silent for a moment. "I'll see what I can do. Just, I wouldn't say anything to Hudson, for two reasons. One, it'd be nice to surprise him, and two, in case I can't get Miranda in, I wouldn't want his hopes up too high."

"Got it. Not a word to Hudson."

"Good. How is Spain? I haven't been there in years."

"It's . . . not hot, not cold. We got stationed outside of a place called Hueco, and most of it is abandoned."

"That's right, I've heard about Hueco. Part of it's been empty for decades, hence the name."

"The base isn't in the best of shape. It's like boot camp all over again, without people calling me a pile of shit every five seconds."

"Well, that's a plus."

"And . . . I know we didn't talk much since you had your magazine photoshoot, but . . . it's been confirmed I have PTSD, and I'm getting treated."

"They gave you Doctor Ranelli, right?"

"Yeah."

"I've only met him a few times, but I've heard a lot of good things about him. Kinda figured they'd give you the best of the best. I'm glad you're finally getting help, Drake."

"Thanks. I'm glad I'm getting it, too. Never knew how much I really needed . . . just someone to talk to every single day. He knows his stuff."

"Good. I'm happy. Right, I have to get going. See you in a few weeks."

For all Delhoun's done for me, I feel bad that our conversation didn't last longer. We'd make up for it in Oslo for sure, but I figured I needed to get some kind of gift for him.

That all reminds me I haven't had a real Christmas in many years. It kind faded away after I turned thirteen or so, because that was when I got the confirmation from my parents that there's no Santa Claus. I remember being surprised, and really disheartened, but that went away almost as soon as Christmas was over. Holidays really weren't observed in prison. Hell, even birthdays weren't a thing. Every day was the same, no matter what.

When I joined this unit, people talked about stuff like Christmas and birthdays, and I watched from a short distance. No one gave me any gifts or approached me to wish me a Merry Christmas. None of that, and it's my fault, because I'm so unapproachable.

No, no, no. I can't think like that anymore. I have to stop blaming myself for every little thing . . .

It's so fucking hard. Can't get this guilt off my shoulders.

What's going to make this year different? Probably nothing.

That doesn't mean I can't try, though. I can do something nice for everyone on base, right? They'll accept it because this is the time of year where people put down their differences and try to enjoy time together. Don't get me wrong, I know there are some families out there where even Christmas doesn't bring them together. Miranda gave me a very detailed story about hers and how her dad's sister doesn't get along with her mother.

Naturally, the first person I thought about when it came to gifts was Vasquez. I definitely want to get something for her, but what?

I tore out a page in my journal and wrote down some ideas that night, while everyone else was sleeping. I knew I had access to the city, and, if need be, I could get an early-morning bus pass to Barcelona. My options for presents were limited, mainly because many civilian items aren't allowed on base, but I knew what we could hide, as well as who could help me hide it.

In the morning, I decided to go right to Barcelona, because Hueco doesn't have a lot in terms of shops. Apone approved my pass, and I'd be able to go the next day. Better yet, I was taking Hudson with me, because he knows how to hide small items and not get caught with it.

Today was an average day. I went to my therapy after breakfast, and Ranelli had a fake jack-o'-lantern set up on his desk, as well as a large bowl of candy. "You're not expecting trick-or-treaters, are you?" I asked.

"No, that's for my patients," he replied, plugging the pumpkin in. "How are you today?"

"A little . . . depressed, I guess. Still recovering from Norway." I explained to him what happened with Hicks, and how I suffered a flashback to when I had toxic discharge, finishing it with, "I feel like I was set back a little with treatment."

"I think there's more to this slight depression you're having right now," Ranelli said, sitting across from me. "It might have to do with the approaching holiday season."

"How did you know?"

"Common sense, and putting all the little puzzle pieces together. I can't imagine someone with your background becomes a very cheerful soul around that time of year. The weight of your experiences is too much to bear, even to temporarily shove away. In fact, being unable to be so happy when everyone else is makes your sadness worse."

I nodded.

"Being depressed around the holidays isn't unusual. Some people just don't have that support system to keep them bolstered this time of year."

"I don't think my support system will be enough. I haven't . . . really had a proper Christmas in years. Hell, my birthday's in December, and . . . I don't think anyone's gonna care."

"Not even your girlfriend?"

"She might, but, I don't know. We kinda had a fight about our futures, again, and I don't know how to resolve it or compromise. She says she's not ready to own a house or start a family or even get married, and that I'm not ready either."

"No, you're not ready. You need to focus on your inside problems before focusing on your outside problems. Focusing on one doesn't make the other go away, but sometimes, you have to put one set on the backburner."

I sighed. "Guess I should've gone to you before saying anything to Vasquez. That's another thing. You know Corporal Ferro? She . . . I think she likes me, in a 'I have a crush on you'-kind of way. When we were leaving Norway, she actually kissed me on the cheek, and . . . I don't know what to do. I can't tell her about me and Vasquez-"

"Wait. Wait one minute. Don't get riled up about this."

"Why? I can't have my relationship threatened-"

"Your relationship is not threatened. You do know that kisses can have multiple meanings, right?"

"Yeah."

"Kisses happen between simple friends, often with members of the opposite sex. While it is frowned upon in the military, you all have been together a long time, so bonds of varying strength happen."

"Ferro doesn't know I'm dating, though."

"She might. There's a certain intuition that women have. She may even know that you and Vasquez are together, just by observing you two."

"We don't make it obvious, though."

"That doesn't negate the fact that Vasquez may look at you a certain way, and vice versa. My suggestion to you is to talk to Ferro in private. Openly discuss the kiss on the plane. Ask her what she meant."

"How do you know she's not going to lie to me?"

"I don't. I want you to build trust with her, so that you can eventually tell her, 'Hands off the merchandise. It belongs to somebody else.' Like I said, it's possible for friends to kiss each other innocently."

"Well, I'm friends with Hudson, but I don't kiss him. I mean, he's given me sloppy kisses on the cheek as a joke, but, it's a joke."

"Hudson strikes me as the type who's affectionate with his friends, and romantic partners."

"Yeah. I hope he can be successful with Miranda. They've been writing to each other for the last month or so, and it's not going anywhere. They're going to meet up during the Christmas party in Oslo, and . . . I don't want them to fall apart."

"Why?"

"I guess . . . I don't want to deal with a brokenhearted Hudson. Or Miranda. Miranda takes breakups very hard. Hudson's never been in a real relationship, so I don't think he'll deal with it well. I'm dealing with my own issues, and I don't want to put more on my shoulders." I frowned. "Is that wrong?"

"Of course it's not 'wrong.' You've got a very long, winding road ahead of you in terms of recovery. How can you help someone else when you have no idea how to help yourself? It certainly isn't fair if you give them poor advice, for example."

"Good point. But, what can I do right now?"

"Know that anything that happens between the two is not your fault. If anything bad should happen, your primary task will be to comfort your friend. Don't feel obliged to give him stellar advice. Being there, and listening to whatever's on his mind will be the best thing you can do. Try not to do anything that would even remotely instill guilt in you."

"I think . . . I already did. I asked Delhoun if he could get Miranda into the party . . . if something goes wrong, it ties back into the fact that I suggested bringing her, and . . . I'll feel guilty."

"All you did was suggest bringing her. You have no control over what happens at the party. Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

It was really hard to keep everything to myself when I went to Barcelona with Hudson today. Despite Ranelli's advice, I felt awful. The sensation of all this baseless guilt piling on top of more baseless guilt was becoming physically painful.

We went to a mall near the center of Barcelona, and I was surprised at how many stores were already decorated for Christmas. I took my eyes off Hudson for two minutes, and then I saw him outside a candy shop. Sighing, I strolled over to him, and said, "Whatcha staring at?"

"Lookit how big those cookies are, man!"

"Alright, I brought you here because I want to get a gift for Vasquez, and you said you could help us hide it if it's something we're not really allowed to have."

"I just want one, man, please?"

"You don't even have any money."

"Yes, I do." Hudson reached into his pocket.

"You should save it for something worthwhile. Like paying me back for all the hygiene supplies I've bought for you."

"Dammit. OK, how much do I owe you?"

"Thirty dollars."

Hudson opened his wallet, and I think I counted over two hundred dollars in twenties.

Can you imagine how pissed I was? "You had . . . all this money the whole time, and you never fucking paid me back?"

Hudson's cheeks were deep red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, man."

"'Sorry' isn't gonna cut it. You accumulated your pay, but you didn't give me what you owed me as soon as you had it?"

No response. Hudson looked genuinely guilty. He handed me two twenties, muttering, "Keep the change, man," before shoving his wallet back in his pocket, and walking away.

"Hey, wait!" I jogged over to him. "Don't-I shouldn't have gotten upset."

"No, I shoulda paid you back when I got the money, and I didn't."

"And I forgive you. Seriously, I don't want to fight right now. I'm tired of it. I'm stressed, and . . . I don't need anymore! I have enough of it in my shitty life anyway!"

"Then, relax, man. You got your money back, I apologized, you forgave me, are we good? Yes? Thank you. Let's get back to our purpose here, and-" Hudson grabbed my shoulders and shook me, "don't overreact to everything. Focus."

As we wandered around the mall, Hudson questioned me about what I wanted to get for Vasquez. I took out my list, and he plucked it away to look at it.

"You know, you're the first guy I've met that doesn't want to get sexy stuff for his girlfriend to wear."

"Because that's kinda selfish, if you think about it. I'm not getting it for her; I'm getting it so I can see her in it, which is more like a gift for me. Not to mention, we'd get in a shit-ton of trouble."

"You would, so, good thinking on your part."

"What about boxer-briefs? Those are allowed, right?"

"Yeah. You got the choice between the briefs and the regular boxers."

"Well, I know her favorite color is green, so I was thinking about getting a package of green boxer-briefs so she can see me-"

"You know you two can't sleep together on base, right?"

"I know, but I was talking to Doctor Ranelli about the place in Oslo we're going to for the Christmas party. It's a really nice hotel complex, and there are going to be lots and lots of empty rooms."

Hudson thought for a moment. "OK. You can get your new underwear, man." He looked at me. "Is that it?"

"No. You're holding the list, you idiot."

"You wrote the list, Drake. OK . . ." Hudson let out a low whistle. "Jewelry. That's not gonna be easy to get, man."

"I never said I was getting the real deal. Glass diamonds are cheap, right?"

"Not always. There're some nuts that pass glass off as real, man. Avoid that for now. I'd suggest a necklace, something she can wear when we go to balls and stuff like that. That kinda stuff won't get her in trouble." Hudson looked back at the list. "Orange tarts. That's something you'll get in trouble for, and hiding it is pointless because those're the kinda things you wanna eat right away. Can't refrigerate 'em without somebody noticing."

"Ranelli can take care of that."

"If you say so, man. I mean, the rest of this is all stuff that's allowed, but you'd rather hide because you don't want anyone knowing that you and her are a couple." Hudson gave the list back to me. "Let's get shopping."

* * *

 _Question: Do you think Hudson is concealing a lot of jealousy regarding the success of Drake and Vasquez's relationship?_

 _Author's Note: Here comes all the somewhat fun, tinged with character drama Christmas stuff.  
_

 _There's going to be another story up sometime this afternoon, maybe tomorrow morning at the latest. The only hint I'm going to give is that it's a tie-in to the previous story, "Lost Cause."_


	8. Chapter 8

I was glad that I managed to get all my gifts for Vasquez in that one shopping trip, and I'll give you a brief rundown of what I got.

Of course, there was the pack of olive-green boxer-briefs that I planned on wearing to the Christmas party and showing off to Vasquez once we got some time alone.

There was a necklace with her birthstone, an amethyst, in it.

There was a book titled "50 Things I Love About You," which I have to fill out before wrapping it up and giving it to her (I also found a larger one called "100 Things I Love About You," but it was too big to be easily hidden . . . and I can't think of a hundred things).

There was a small set of paints I thought she'd might want to use on her armor and smartgun.

And a tiny teddy bear, holding a heart.

As I predicted, Ranelli said I could leave that stuff in his office, and he even offered to wrap it for me. The only thing I held onto was the book, because I needed to write in it. I started working on it that night, waiting for everyone to fall asleep before taking it out from under my pillow.

I actually started second-guessing myself, wondering if this was too sappy. Deep down, though, I think Vasquez is going to like it. It's something she can look at if I ever have to be separated from her again.

There were a few things I found hard to answer. The book was definitely geared toward couples who met normally, who live far better lives than me and Vasquez. There were spaces where you could tape photographs, and that reminded me that we have never taken a picture together. Professional photos, yes, but never fun ones.

I skipped around the book, writing in as much as I could. I didn't want my statements to be laced with my frustration and depression. A rapidly swelling bubble of emotion got stuck in my chest. I closed the book, and climbed down from my bunk. Without thinking, I shook Hudson awake.

"Wha . . . What's going on, man?" he groaned. "Was I snoring again?"

Cracks were beginning to appear in the emotional bubble. "I need someone to listen to me right now."

We headed down to the lounge, where I collapsed on the couch in tears. I was gripping the book and my pen tightly, sobbing hard. "We're never gonna have any of this!"

"Any what?" Hudson yawned, and stuck his hand up his shirt to scratch himself.

I opened the book, showing him the empty photo spaces and questions about date nights and household chores and all the other stuff Vasquez and I have really never experienced together.

It took Hudson a moment to figure out what was wrong. He sat on the couch next to me, and said, "You'll get all of that someday, man."

"I don't want to give this to her with blank spaces. I can't. It's just gonna remind her of how little we've done together."

"She's not stupid. Pretty sure she knows you haven't done a lot together. Definitely don't wanna lie about anything, right?"

"No."

"Right. So, if you have to leave something blank, leave it blank, man. Is this really hurting you that bad?"

I nodded. "I don't want to fail as a boyfriend."

"You're not a failure, man. Vasquez loves you. Isn't that more important? So what if you haven't taken any pictures together? You've done some badass things together. I'm sure that's worthy of remembering for years and years to come. Come on, picture sitting at the dinner table with Vasquez, and your son or daughter, telling them stories about your life in the Marines. They're gonna say, 'Did you really do that, Daddy?' and you're gonna say, 'Yes. Your mommy was there, too.'"

I tried to smile through my tears. "Dammit, Hudson, I want that more than anything."

"And you're gonna get it. You just gotta keep going, man. You'll get there."

* * *

I was cleaning the mirrors in the bathroom when Ferro peered in the door, saying, "Hey, Drake, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Why can't you just stand there and talk?" I asked, looking at her through the mirror.

"Because it's something that I don't want anyone else listening to."

"Is this about the fact that you kissed me on the ride back from Norway?"

She was silent for a minute. "Yes. Yes, it is. I mean, it was just a quick peck on the cheek, but, you know, I shouldn't have done that."

"Why do you say that?"

"You didn't really approach me afterwards, so I took that as a hint that . . . you just weren't interested. I know we said we're just friends, but, I guess I thought I could make something better out of it."

"So, you did have a crush on me?"

"For a few days, yeah."

I snorted. "Why? Everyone knows I'm impossible to be around."

"You're impossible to be around until people actually get to know you. You're not bad once you let people in past your rough exterior."

"Well, geez, I thought you thought I was attractive or something," I laughed.

Ferro leaned against the doorway. "I'll keep those thoughts to myself, thank you very much."

"I thought you trusted me."

"I do trust you."

"So, tell me if you think I'm attractive or not."

"I've seen better, and I've seen worse. You're average."

"Good. I think I'm average, too."

"Would it make you feel better if I said you're slightly above average?"

"No. My self-esteem is shit, remember?"

She grinned. "Come on, there's gotta be one thing about yourself that you like."

"OK, well . . . lemme think . . . I listen when someone talks. I try not to get in anyone's way. I . . . can tell when someone's upset." I shrugged. "That's pretty much it."

"Better than nothing." Ferro continued to watch me clean the mirrors, and when I finished, she said, "Are you busy after you put the cleaning stuff away?"

"No. Why?"

"Would you mind sitting and talking?"

"I'm kinda hungry. If you don't mind going to the lounge, sure. Pretty sure no one's in there."

I was wrong; there were a few guys in the lounge. Hudson and Frost were hunched over a pool table, while Crowe watched them, gnawing on a slice of beef jerky. Frankly, I didn't mind, because it wasn't like Ferro and I were having a romantic conversation anyway.

Ferro sat on the couch, as I put a dollar into the vending machine, and waited for a Snickers bar to drop. "You want anything?" I asked, glancing at Ferro.

"No, thanks." She moved closer to me when I sat down, in order to whisper, "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Is it true that . . . you and Vasquez . . . are a couple?"

"No. We're friends, but we're not dating," I said. "Why does everyone think we're fucking dating?"

"You just seem really, really close."

"Well, of course we're close. We kinda were in jail together, and we went to boot camp together. Is there something wrong with us being close friends?"

"Just . . . I get that impression by the way you two look at each other, and by the way you're not so keen on talking to me or Dietrich."

"I'm talking to you right now, and we went for drinks a few weeks ago. You had the guts to approach me, and Dietrich hasn't. If she would talk to me more often, it'd be a different story. Besides, even if I was dating Vasquez, I wouldn't want to tell anyone, because you'd go and blab to Apone or Hicks."

I guess we weren't whispering quiet enough, because Hudson tried to swoop in and stop the conversation from getting too awkward. He sat on top of the pool table, putting his cue stick behind his back to angle it against a ball better, and pretended to fall over.

Well, I shouldn't use the word "pretend," because he really did fall, and he almost hit Crowe in the eye with his stick.

"Hudson, are you drunk or something?" Frost asked.

Ferro looked a little concerned. "Is he OK?"

"I'm fine, man!" Hudson called. "Another bruise for my ass, but I'm good!"

He bruised his ass for nothing, because Ferro turned back to me, saying, "If you were dating Vasquez, I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because if I was dating someone, I wouldn't want anyone saying anything."

I put the last of the Snickers bar in my mouth, then balled up the wrapper. "You got a long road to go before I start trusting you with more of my emotional shit." I stood up, pitching the wrapper in a trash can before storming out of the lounge.

* * *

"I blew up on her, and I was wrong."

Ranelli was dusting his office while listening to me talk about my day. After a moment of thinking, he said, "What I think you need to do, Drake, is expand your comfort zone, and understand this: when you start developing close relationships with other members of your unit, you see who they really are, and when you see who they really are, you realize they have absolutely nothing to gain by telling Apone about your romance with Vasquez. Much of this is coming from your habit of keeping yourself closed off."

"I don't want to open the fucking door all the way," I muttered.

"You don't have to open the door all the way. Just open it . . . halfway. I told you, one of the things you need to do to continue on your healing process is work on yourself. You're trapped in a specific mindset, one that may've helped you in prison and boot camp, but not here. Opening yourself up, just a little more, allows for others to see you're not always grumpy and frustrated. Along with caring about the problems some of them might be facing, that will improve how people see you, and when people see you better, they want to be around you, which will lead to some form of happiness."

I sighed. "I'm just . . . not ready to trust Ferro."

"Son, either you trust her, or you continue bumbling about hiding your relationship with Vasquez. I think, that if you trust Ferro, you will gain a friend. You will gain someone on _your_ side, someone to back you up if you need it. You will gain someone to talk to."

I rubbed my face, sighing again. "I didn't think about it that way, and I feel stupid."

"Don't. It's all part of learning how to adapt to different mindsets and psychological environments."

* * *

I didn't a chance to talk to Ferro right after I left Ranelli's office, because it was time for our daily exercise session. I had to head down to the gym (which was less nice than the one in Australia, just saying), get changed, and get in a loose formation with the others.

After starting a stronger antibiotic, Hicks was looking a lot better, but he still sounded congested and it would be some time before he got the majority of his strength back. That didn't stop him from getting in the front with Apone to tell us that we'd be doing some lifting today.

"I wanna see a little enthusiasm from you!" Hicks said as he paced the length of the gym when we started. "Come on, give your partner some encouragement when they look like they're gonna stop-Frost, help Wierzbowski, don't stare at him! Hudson, start talking to Drake, stimulate his brain and keep him focused! Dietrich, go around and make sure everyone's form is good! Nice job, Vasquez, teach Ferro how to do it correctly! Always go to your partner before you go to us, OK? Good! Right, switch!"

I got off the bench, letting Hudson lay down under the bar. "You need me to take weight off, or put more on?"

"Leave it, man. I can handle it." Hudson began straining as he tried taking the bar off the rack. "Holy shit, man, how are you lifting more than me?"

"Um, I carry a smartgun, remember? You don't." I slapped his belly. "You need to work on your core, bud. I know we haven't done much the last few weeks, but you gotta keep those abs toned. Come on, start flexing, make this a full-body workout, Hudson! If you don't push yourself, I'm gonna start making you laugh."

"I'm pushing, man, I'm pushing!" Hudson gasped.

I hopped up on the back of the bench anyway, crouching to get in Hudson's face. "You're not pushing hard enough! I know how many Oreos you've been taking from the lounge! Let's go! One more, one more!"

"Switch!" Hicks yelled.

I threw myself under the bar. "Put more weight on," I said.

"Whatever you say, man." Hudson slid more plates on the bar. "How much?"

"Ten pounds."

"OK."

I pushed myself to do as many reps as I could, mentally telling myself to keep going. Hudson didn't need to motivate me. He watched, a little surprised, and probably wondering where I got this burst of energy.

"Drake, are you OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah," I grunted, pushing the bar up.

"Are you sure? You never have this kind of energy."

I slowly set the bar on the rack. "I feel a little better. Is that wrong?"

"No. Just didn't know if something was bothering you, and you were angry or something."

"I'm not angry." I sat up, thinking for a minute. "I actually . . . feel better."

Not for long. The train of "feeling better" collided with the endless hoard of my problems. My energy disappeared as fast as it had came. I felt like a mask had been torn off my face. That moment of happiness, that feeling that I could do anything . . . it was gone in a heartbeat.

Maybe it would come back in another.

My heart beat three more times, and that energy didn't come back. The black void of my soul was still there, no light of any kind to be seen.

"Drake?"

I glanced at Hudson, knowing it wasn't his fault that my energy collapsed. It was purely mine. I couldn't keep that energy going. I couldn't make it stronger and make it slice through the darkness of my mind.

"What's going on?" Hicks asked.

"I don't know. One minute, he was doing great, and then . . . then _poof_ , he stops." Hudson touched my shoulder. "All I did was ask if everything was OK, man, you didn't have to stop."

"I know I didn't have to stop. I don't know why I stopped. I . . . I couldn't . . . I was actually feeling like I could keep going and that I could do anything a-and then . . . I crashed." My face started heating up, and tears choked me. I sniffed, praying I didn't burst into tears in front of everyone.

"Drake, if you need to stop, do it. Trust me, you don't want to push yourself too hard so early in your treatment. It makes things worse." Hicks helped me stand. "If you need to talk to Ranelli, go ahead."

When the door closed behind me, I heard everyone go back to their workouts. My heart felt hollow; its beating was echoing in my brain. I wanted to go back in and continue, but I knew Hicks was right. I couldn't push myself so hard this early. At the same time, I felt like an embarrassment, a failure.

As much as I wanted to be alone, I didn't think that was a good idea. But, I also didn't want to become a burden to Ranelli. He shouldn't have to see me more than once a day.

Instead of going to sick bay, I sat in the hallway, tears rolling down my face. At that point, I was convinced that I was never going to have control of this. My trauma had full control of me. I was never going to beat it back.

Part of me hoped that Hudson would come out and talk to me, but I could hear him yelling excitedly and cracking jokes with the others, like I didn't exist.

I let out a heavy sigh, knowing that the only person who was going to drag me out of this hole was me. The only question was how? As I pondered that, the gym door opened, and Hicks came out to sit next to me. "You doing OK?" he asked.

"Not really. I ran head-first into a brick wall in my head."

"You crashed. Not a big deal. You'll get back up."

"I feel like I'm not gonna get back up."

"Give it time. I told you, don't push so hard. You're forcing yourself to do something your mind isn't ready for, and all it does is build up pressure, making that final crash worse. You can't reach your full potential if you don't have any mental strength. That's why people commit suicide. They don't take the time to just get better, and understand their limits. They push too hard, and start believing that they're trying their best and nothing's happening, that cycle's just repeating over and over."

"So, every time I have a little bit of energy, I shouldn't act on it?"

"No. Talk to Ranelli about this. He can tell you what you can do whenever you feel like you need to blow out all sorts of energy. There's ways you can be productive without driving yourself nuts."

I looked at the floor. "I thought exercise was one of those things that'd be good for my mental health."

"It is, but I think you tried throwing yourself into it too hard. Maybe make a plan before starting. Set yourself a time limit or a rep limit. Give yourself a goal you know you can achieve in, say, an hour."

I nodded. "Guess I can try that."

"Do it. Pace yourself, OK?" Hicks rubbed my shoulder. "I was impressed with you, though, the way you were encouraging Hudson. We'll probably be doing some core exercises tomorrow." He winked, letting me know he had heard everything I said to Hudson in the gym.

I wanted to smirk, but something deep inside was holding it back.

* * *

 _Question: If you were a brand-new Marine in this squadron, with no knowledge at all about anyone, what would your first impression be of each of these characters?_


	9. Chapter 9

The base felt a little more empty when Spunkmeyer, Frost, and Wierzbowski went home for the holidays. I was still juggling in my mind whether or not I should open up to Ferro about what's really going on between me and Vasquez. Naturally, I felt like I had to get Vasquez's permission, first.

Vasquez was about to accuse me of wanting to tell everybody until I explained to her what Doctor Ranelli said. After a few minutes of her biting her lip and glaring at me, she sighed, and said, "Fine. Tell her."

"I'm not going to if you really, really don't want her to know," I replied.

"No, seriously, go ahead and tell her. I don't want her getting any delusions that you might actually be single and she can fuck you."

"Sweetheart-"

"If it's going to help you, psychologically, do it. I'm tired of watching you suffer. I just . . . I need to keep telling myself that your mental health is at the root of all this, and if you're going to get better, you need to do what the doctor tells you, especially if it means we can stop revolving all our conversations around your problems."

I felt my heart sink.

"It's a Goddamn loop. Every single day. You say you're gonna change, and you don't. You get worse, you figure something out, and then you go right back to square one because you're traumatized. Then it repeats itself. Every fucking day. I want it to stop." Vasquez rested her head against my chest, putting her arms loosely around me. "How many times do I have to complain about this before something good happens?"

"I don't think I'm the right person to ask," I said, hugging her tightly. "If it makes you feel any better, I do think about how this is effecting you, and I know it's not good. I know we're both . . . not ready for civilian life, and this is one of those reasons. That doesn't mean I'll stop loving you."

"No, I don't want you to stop loving me, and I'm not going to stop loving you."

"How about this: we take Ferro out to lunch tomorrow, and we can both explain the situation, that way I don't have to speak for you, and she can get a good picture of how you feel about all this."

"I'll trust you on this, Drake."

"Thanks." I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "One more thing, I'm gonna make this a good Christmas for you, and that's all I'm gonna say. Don't want to spoil any surprises."

Vasquez was silent. She then sighed again, saying, "You don't have to do anything for me."

"I _want_ to do something for you, though."

"Fine."

* * *

It didn't take long for me to figure out why she left the conversation at that. While leaving my daily appointment in sick bay, I passed by the lounge and overheard someone crying. When I listened closer, I heard it was Vasquez.

 _Is she alone?_ I thought. Of course, I wanted to go in and comfort her, but then I heard Hudson's voice.

"You still got plenty of time to get him something for Christmas," Hudson said. "Don't feel bad."

"The point is that I didn't want to do anything in the first place! I didn't even think he was getting anything for me!" Vasquez sobbed.

"Well, now you know you were wrong. Come 'ere-you need a hug and a tissue."

I saw through a crack in the door that they were sitting on the couch. Vasquez was pressing a tissue against her eyes while Hudson hugged her.

"This ain't something you gotta cry about," Hudson said, softly. "Just go into the city and get something for him."

"What do I get, though? I can't think of anything he'd want."

"Go walk about a mall. Maybe something'll catch your eye that you think Drake'll like. I'll even go with you, if you want some help."

"I don't want any help."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Vasquez wadded up the tissue, and tossed it into a trash can. "Thanks anyway, Hudson."

"No worries." Hudson kissed her cheek. "Hey, I'm pretty sure Drake would be fine if you didn't get him anything."

"That's not the point. He shouldn't have to work hard only to get nothing in return. That bothers him a lot. I'm trying to help him, not make his condition worse."

"OK, maybe I should word this differently . . . I think he'll be happy to just be with you. You know, he doesn't have a real family or a home to go to for the holidays, and . . . you're it, Vasquez. You've even said you wanna marry him someday, so you're the closest he's gonna get to family. That's important, and even though he doesn't say it outright, I think that's what he wants more than anything."

Vasquez nodded. "You're right. You're absolutely right. We both . . . don't have anywhere else to go, just each other. When we leave, you're right, we're going to become family. That's our goal. I just . . . I want him to get healthy first."

"You gotta help him. You're not helping by pushing him away and telling him that you're sick of hearing about his PTSD. He knows you're sick of hearing about it, and he's sick of dealing with it. Have you ever thought about it that way? Gee, man, don't you think that he's really tired of suffering this all the time? Maybe that's why he's kinda comfortable around Ferro-she doesn't tell him that it's annoying. She actually listens to him."

"My God, this is all just saying I'm a terrible girlfriend."

"No, you're not a terrible girlfriend. You-"

"All I do is tell him I'm tired of hearing about his PTSD! I've never offered him any kind of support or comfort or help or anything! I'm . . . I'm borderline useless to him!"

"Vasquez, that's not true. You're beating yourself up, just like Drake. He doesn't need that right now, man, he needs someone who can at least keep him feeling happy when he's not in therapy."

"That's hard when I'm not happy, either."

"Well, why aren't you happy?"

"Because of Drake!"

Hudson sighed. "Maybe you two need to spend some time away from each other."

"We have spent time away from each other! I hate it!"

"OK, voluntary time. You know where the other is, you know they're safe, and you know when you'll be able to see each other. How 'bout that?"

"I think it's a bad idea. I'll worry, he'll worry. We can't. We just can't."

Hudson fell silent. "Whaddaya think would help? If Drake is why you're not happy, then . . . how the hell're you gonna solve anything?"

"I don't know."

"Come on, man, focus. Is it that time of the month for you?"

"Hudson!"

"I'm just asking. I know you ladies get a little twitchy when you're bleeding."

Vasquez backhanded him. "No, Hudson, I don't have my period right now. I don't want to spend any time away from Drake. I should . . ." She sighed. "I should talk to Doctor Ranelli. I'm sorry, but you're not helping."

"Do what you want, man. I tried."

I wasn't expecting Vasquez to storm out of the lounge, and I definitely wasn't expecting her to see me. But, she did, and she was furious.

"You!" she shouted. " _Were you LISTENING to us?!_ "

"No, sweetheart-"

" _Don't you 'sweetheart' me!_ " Vasquez shoved me hard, and when I didn't do anything, she managed to push me to the floor. "I can't believe you'd fucking eavesdrop on me, Drake!"

"You didn't even let me say anything!"

"And I don't care!"

Of course, the ruckus brought Ranelli out of his office. He looked pretty confused, and he made a feeble attempt to get me and Vasquez to stop yelling at each other.

Hudson came out of the lounge, looking steamed. To this day, I've never heard him raise his voice this loud. " _THAT'S ENOUGH, MAN!"_

Silence fell over the hallway like a blanket.

"Thank you, Hudson," Ranelli said. "Now, I want all of you, in my office, this instant!"

* * *

Vasquez and I were made to sit on the couch next to each other, while Hudson was quick to notice the giant bowl of candy on Ranelli's desk. He grabbed a handful of sweets and began methodically unwrapping them and sticking them in his cheeks.

Ranelli made me tell my side of the story, and when I was done, he made Vasquez tell hers. As soon as we both finished, he said, "It sounds like you two need to spend some time away from each other."

"That's what I said!" Hudson chirped with his mouth full.

"Nobody asked you, dumbass!" I snapped. "Shut up and keep stuffing your face!"

"Drake! That was uncalled for!" Ranelli slapped his hand on the coffee table.

After swallowing what was in his mouth, Hudson stuck his tongue out at me like a four-year-old. I showed him my middle finger.

"Again, uncalled for," Ranelli said. "I expect better from each of you. Here you are, grown human beings, acting like children."

"I didn't do anything, man," Hudson mumbled. "You got any beer?"

Ranelli ignored him. "I'm going to make myself clear. You need to spend some time away from each other."

Vasquez looked like she was about to cry. She squeezed my hand tightly before saying, "Doctor, can I talk to you alone?"

Ranelli gestured for Hudson and I to leave. As we left sick bay, Hudson offered me a piece of candy, and I flatly refused it.

"You OK, man?" Hudson asked.

"No. You saw everything. I fucked up big-time with her. I shouldn't have listened to your conversation."

"She was getting pissed anyway. I don't think not listening woulda made a difference, man."

"I still did something wrong, and I need to fix it."

"Fix it later. Right now, you need to leave her alone, and she needs to leave you alone. You heard what the doc said."

"I know what I heard! But I don't think ignoring it is gonna fix it!"

"We're not ignoring it, man. We're taking a step back to think about it. There's a difference."

I sighed, trying to tell myself that taking a step back was going to be the best approach. I guess that meant we weren't going to tell Ferro just yet, but I was a little heated about Vasquez pushing me, so I decided I'd talk to Ferro alone.

She was sitting on the edge of her bunk, folding her socks when I knocked on the open door. "Hey, Drake," Ferro said, a small smile tugging on the edge of her mouth. "What's going on?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for ice cream and alcohol," I replied.

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. It's . . . It's an apology for how I acted in the lounge a few weeks ago. I know it's a bit late, but-"

"An apology is an apology, sweetie, and I accept."

"So, we're still going-"

"Yes. I'd be happy to."

I started thinking about what I overheard between Vasquez and Hudson, mainly about what Hudson said about how I'm gravitating towards Ferro because she hasn't considered my condition "annoying." We haven't had many personal conversations together, so I really don't know what Ferro's actually thinking about me. She may be like everyone else and think I'm using this as an excuse to be an asshole, but I haven't gotten that impression. Yet.

* * *

I kinda changed my mind about the ice cream when we headed into the inhabited parts of Hueco later that evening. It was really cold, so I suggested going to a fancy bar and having alcohol-infused hot chocolate.

"You're dead-set on the alcohol, Drake," Ferro pointed out. "Is everything OK?"

I took a breath. "Well, I . . . yeah, everything's OK, I just . . . I brought you out here to talk to you, and today's been . . . today's been an off day for me. Not trying to get drunk, just trying to relax."

"Still. That's not a good way to solve problems. Tell me what's going on."

"Are you prepared? I have a habit of dumping my mental sewage on the first person who says they're willing to listen."

"Just talk."

"OK, well, I'm dating Vasquez. There. You suspected it. Your suspicions were correct. We're dating."

Ferro looked like her breath had been sucked from her lungs. "So, that's . . . that's true? You and her . . ."

"Yep. Now please don't tell anyone. Can I trust you not to tell anyone?"

"Yes, you can trust me."

"Good. That's been bothering for the last several weeks. Now that's off my chest, I wanna let you know that is why I didn't go further with you. My heart belongs to somebody else, so, hands off the merchandise." I made a subtle gesture toward my pants.

"Trust me, Drake, I had no plans of putting my hands on your . . . merchandise."

"Thanks. Anyway, I . . . I hope this doesn't make a mess of things. I still want to be friends, and I want to be able to turn to you when I just need someone to talk to."

"Does Vasquez know you're telling me?"

"She has an idea. We originally planned on both, you know, being here so we could tell you and you could get a good idea of how we both feel, but . . . her and I . . . kinda had a fight today, and we were told by Doctor Ranelli that we need to spend some time away from each other."

"So, you went behind her back and took me out without her? That's actually really shitty, Drake."

"Well, if I didn't tell you soon, then God only knows what would've happened. I felt like you needed to know, and I'm not doing this to spite her. I'm doing it because Hudson's no help right now, I can't say anything to Hicks, so-"

"I was your last bet."

"Exactly. I'm sorry if that's . . . equally shitty."

Ferro shook her head. "No, Drake, it's fine. I'm glad you trust me."

With that, I explained what happened between me and Vasquez. To my surprise, Ferro was listening the whole time, and didn't say anything until I had finished.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to agree with your therapist. It sounds like you two just need to take a step back and think about how much you mean to each other," she said. "Hell, this is a side of Vasquez I've definitely never seen before."

"And you never will actually see it. That's how much she suppresses herself. Unless you really get on her good side. A lot of it comes from the fact that she was in prison, like me. Boot camp didn't help, either."

"Sometimes I forget that's where you guys came from. Guess it means I can say I've made friends with a convicted murderer."

"There's more to that story. It's . . . not something I like talking about, but it happened, so, I gotta learn to accept it." I shrugged. "I'm not, you know, a bad guy. I didn't kill anyone because I wanted to or because it was something I was hired to do, and I never, ever robbed anyone or hurt anyone or, Christ forbid, raped anyone. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Honestly, I would've gotten off the hook on the grounds of self-defense if I had just shot the one guy and ran. But, I didn't. I shot him, and then stole his car. His two friends were about to try to climb in and get me, but I ended up running both of them over." I took a deep breath. "I disappeared with that car for about three days, and all that did was rack up the charges. Murder, grand theft auto, vehicular manslaughter, leaving the scene of a crime. All that amounted to a fucking life sentence."

Ferro seemed to regret making that joke about being friends with a convicted murderer, but she said nothing.

"I was an idiot, that's all. I didn't think I was gonna go anywhere in life. I was sixteen at the time, still in high school, and I had no idea what I wanted to do. There was a lot of pressure to go to college and all that, but I'm not smart enough for that. I had no tech skills, and I couldn't work with other people. Not gonna lie, I had a smartass mouth and got in trouble for it, because there were times where I had to work with people I didn't like. Instead of sucking it up and dealing with it, I talked back, I was rude, and it took me awhile to notice that my social life faltered because of it. I took notice of it, I changed, and people still didn't want me around. Part of me just wanted to run away after awhile, and that's what I tried to do. That's why I went ahead and stole the car after shooting the guy who tried jumping me. I figured, 'I got nothing else. May as well run and see where life takes me.' It got me nowhere." I rubbed my face, sighing.

"Can't imagine prison helped you with that."

"No, it didn't. It made everything worse, and I knew it was my fault. I convinced myself, over time, that everything was my fault. I was guilty of every bad thing that happened to me, and I had no hope. For me, I can't . . . I can't hold on to hope. It dies as soon as I touch it. I have a horrible guilt complex, I tend to emotionally explode, I have a hard time getting along with people, I just . . . I'm a mess, and I was a mess in prison. I just suppressed that mess and let it build and build. Even after meeting Vasquez and realizing that we both need to get a grasp on ourselves, I got worse. Even though I found somebody who could love me and I could love back, I still felt awful. She was the only person who knew. When I went to boot camp and had to go through my medical exam, I refused to say anything to the doctors. I held it all in the whole time. I have a strong feeling that . . . this is the real reason I developed post-traumatic stress disorder. I've been so emotionally broken, that it's made me vulnerable to shit like that, and there's no going back."

Ferro was silent for a moment, trying to take in everything she just heard. She had gotten the full story, and I felt bad that I had to give her the burden of knowing. After a few quiet minutes, she said, "I think you'll heal. It's not gonna happen overnight, or by next week, or even by next month, but you will heal. I'm not an expert, but I think this was all meant to happen, because that's how you're going to grow as a person. Everyone has, like, their own path and some paths are rougher than others. You're going to find what you're meant to do, and you're going to eventually . . . pull yourself out of this dark hole that you've found yourself in. I mean, I wish I could offer up something better, but, that's the best I got. Just keep telling yourself that . . . everything is going to get better. You will find hope, and you'll put the puzzle that is your brain back together. Does that help?"

I nodded.

"Hey, you're in therapy, so . . . I would hope Doctor Ranelli is doing you some good, right?"

"He is."

"Well, that's wonderful. It means you're gonna get there, one day. You just need to be patient, OK?"

I needed some time to put my thoughts back together, and in that time, I noticed my hot chocolate, fused with a dash of whiskey, had gotten lukewarm. "Thanks for listening, Ferro. That's all I wanted."

"I never expected that we'd ever talk to each other like this, so, you're welcome."

"To think it's because you found me sleeping in the laundry room back in Australia," I said, laughing a little.

"Yeah. I did, because you didn't bring me my clothes."

"My laziness actually served a greater purpose."

Ferro smirked. "I never thought I'd say this, but-" she raised her cup, "here's to your laziness."

I raised mine. "And the unlikely friendship it brought."

* * *

 _Question: In what way could opening up to others become a drawback in Drake's progress?_

 _Author's Note: This is one of those chapters that is absolutely loaded with dialogue, and, in some ways, I feel like it was necessary. It's been building up that some of these characters need to talk, and it's kind of been established throughout each of these entries that Drake's thoughts/dialogue can ramble. In some ways, it's an interesting character quirk (that is not canon because he doesn't have a lot of lines in the movie, at least compared to the other characters) that serves as a narrative tool._


	10. Chapter 10

As you can probably guess, I did spent a lot of time with Ferro since I was spending time away from Vasquez. Luckily, I had Hudson as my go-between to tell me what went on throughout the day. However, after around three days of me constantly asking whether or not Vasquez was OK, what she did, and shit like that, Hudson had enough.

"OK, man, we may need to set some ground rules, alright?" Hudson gripped my shoulders, looking me in the eye. "No more asking me 'bout her during the day. The purpose of this is for you two to be _away_ from each other, no connection, period. Second, I'm not talking to Vasquez so I can fill you in on everything she does. I'm talking to her because she needs someone to talk to right now. That's it. OK, so, no more asking 'bout her, no more pestering me 'bout her. _No more, man_."

I reluctantly agreed to not ask about Vasquez again, but it was painful whenever I saw her during meals or exercise, especially when she looked at me. Our expressions were stoic, but we've known each other long enough that we can get an idea of what the other is thinking by looking in their eyes.

I almost got lost in her gaze when I felt a certain somebody elbow me in the ribs, and turned to glare at Hudson. "That fucking hurt, you moron."

"Well, stop looking at her, man," he hissed.

I gave him a dirty look.

You can imagine that this was becoming increasingly hard. I know that was the purpose, but it was made worse by the fact that the date where we'd be going to Norway was getting closer. There was no way I was going to ignore my girlfriend on Christmas.

If I can last until we get on that plane, then I think we'll be all straightened out.

* * *

The day before we flew out to Oslo, the men all had to make sure our dress uniforms fit, and the ladies were fitted for evening gowns. When I took my dress uniform out of its case, I felt something hard in one of the pockets. A horrible twisting feeling enveloped my stomach as I slowly pulled the USCM medal of bravery out of the pocket.

It has been two months, and I still feel like I don't deserve it. I know I saved Hudson's life, and I know we've gotten close since then, but . . . I still don't feel like I should be wearing that medal.

Maybe I can get away with not wearing it. Everyone here knows I have PTSD, so maybe no one will force me to wear it because they know I'll be uncomfortable.

I set the medal on the side of my bunk as I put my uniform on. After tightening the collar, I went out into the hall so Apone could check me.

"Looking good," Apone said, giving me a quick glance. "Where's your medal, Drake?"

"I don't want to wear it," I replied.

"Why not?"

"I don't . . . I really don't want people at the party asking about it."

"Drake, you earned that thing, and you're gonna wear it."

I shook my head.

"Drake, go get that medal."

"I don't want people asking me about it!" I yelled. "If they ask about it, I have to go back into my head, and talk about . . . about saving Hudson, and I don't want to go back to that memory! I can't! I-I don't want to see th-the spit running from his mouth or the dark purple color of his face! I don't want to hear that awful hacking sound he was making when he couldn't breathe!"

Hicks walked over to us when he heard my yelling, and said, "Lemme talk to him for a minute, Sarge."

Apone nodded, clearly not wanting to argue with me. "Do your thing, Hicks."

"Thanks. Go on in the room, Drake." Hicks ushered me back into the bedroom, and closed the door behind him. He sat on his rack. "Where's the medal?"

I pointed to my bed.

"Hold on to it, and sit down."

I was about to sit on the floor, but I remembered how stiff the dress uniform is, and ended up with my ass barely on Hudson's rack.

"Now, very calmly, I want you to tell me what you think is gonna happen if you wear the medal at the party, and someone asks you, 'Hey, what'd you do to earn the bravery medal?'"

"I'm going to have a flashback. I'm going to . . . to go into a part of my head I don't want to go to, and . . . I'm going to look very distant and people are going to stay away from me, and-" I felt tears choking me, "I'm gonna be an embarrassment to you and Apone and the whole squad and myself."

"Drake, you're not an embarrassment. Trust me, you're not. I know that's how you think right now, and I hope you can break out of that cycle of thinking, but, I want you to keep one thought in mind while we're at the party. No matter what happens-whether you have a flashback, or you run out of a room, or faint-I don't think you're an embarrassment, and Apone doesn't think you're an embarrassment. We both want you to enjoy yourself because we know you probably haven't had a real Christmas in years. If you feel awkward, that's OK. You have friends there who'll help you and cheer you up. Hudson, Vasquez, Delhoun's gonna be there, and . . . if you wanna talk to me, go right ahead." Hicks shrugged. "You know that . . . General Paulson killed himself a few days before a Christmas party five years ago. I'm gonna be really uncomfortable and I might need to step out of the room a few times. If you want to join me, I'd actually welcome it."

I let the tears fall down my face. "Thanks, Hicks."

"Look, I know you don't want to wear the medal. But, there's gonna be a lot of brass there who're aware that you have a bravery medal to your name. They'd be asking you and Apone a lot of questions as to why you're not wearing it, because it's part of your uniform. The minute you accepted it, that medal became a piece of your uniform. You wouldn't leave out your cover, or your belt or cords or anything else. The same applies to any medals or ribbons. You don't want that kind of attention, right?"

"No, I don't."

"Exactly. Just wear the medal, and if you need to breathe, talk to me. We'll go out in the hall and you can breathe."

I nodded. "Alright . . . I'll wear the fucking medal."

Hicks gave me a genuine smile. We both stood up, and he gave me a tight, brotherly embrace. "We're all here for you, Drake. You're not alone." He patted my back, and let go. "Give me your medal."

I handed it to him, shivering when I looked at it.

Hicks put it around my neck, letting it hang at the base of my throat. "Hey, think of it this way; I know a lot of people that wouldn't have pushed on with PTSD. You're pushing on. Never once have you considered . . . quitting on life. That's bravery. Maybe it's not why you got this medal, but . . . it takes courage to stand up against a mental illness. It takes courage to keep going." He gripped my shoulders. "I'll see you through this fight. Hudson will see you through this fight. Vasquez, Apone, Ferro, we will _all_ see you through this, alright?"

I nodded, my cheeks wet and streaked with tears. "I'll believe you. I know I don't believe in myself, but . . . I hope I can, someday."

Hicks squeezed my shoulders. "You're human. You have that power to believe in yourself. It doesn't matter how broken you think you are; inside, you have the power to believe and know you can pull through this. I know it's hard, but you can do it. You need to keep searching, and we will help you find it."

I was led back out into the hall, where Apone gave me a simple nod when he saw I had the medal on. Hicks took him aside, whispering, "Everything's fine. If he needs to get some air when we're at the party, just let him."

"Alright," Apone replied. "Glad that's sorted."

Despite all that, I had an overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

In the morning, we all had to get ready for the flight to Oslo. We were ordered to pack for at least a week, just in case the weather got bad. As we packed and got dressed, I took the package of underwear from Ranelli's office, along with the rest of my gifts for Vasquez, and ran back to my room, hoping no one saw me. I was relieved when I saw Hudson was the only person in there, and closed the door.

"What're you doing, man?" Hudson asked.

"Putting on my present," I replied. "Can you turn around for a minute?" I tore open the package, and took out a pair of the green boxer-briefs.

"The party's not till tomorrow night, man."

"I know, but I don't want to wait. I'm giving her the gifts tonight."

"You think you two've spent enough time away from each other?"

"Yes, dammit."

"You're both gonna try and not be assholes to each other?"

"Well . . ." I paused, realizing the boxer-briefs were a little tight, "I . . . um . . . Hudson, these are kinda tight."

"You bought 'em, man. Did you make sure they were your size?"

"Yeah, but . . . I think it's the difference in brand."

"Hey, lemme tell you a secret: the tighter, the better. Why? Visibility."

"I'm not gonna ask how you know that, but, OK. I'll . . . I'll deal with it." I sighed. "Anyway, I was gonna ask about how Vasquez has been doing, but I know you didn't want me asking, so, I'm not gonna bother."

"You know what? Since you're gonna see each other tonight, I'll tell you. She misses you. A lot. And she really regrets yelling at you for listening in on our conversation."

"Is she going to tell me that my problems are annoying?"

"I don't think so, but, you never know."

"I don't think just . . . ignoring each other is going to solve anything."

"It's not gonna solve anything, but it gives you time to breathe and think before you dive into solving problems for real." Hudson threw on his sweater. "By the way, I got a couple gifts for you, in case you were wondering. I'll give 'em to you when we get there." He gave me a goofy smile.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. It's Christmas, man."

"Well . . . I didn't get anything for you."

"Christmas isn't for another two weeks, so, you got time. Seriously, though, man, don't feel forced to get me anything. If you and Vasquez can be civil, that'd be good enough. I love you guys and I hate you seeing you fight."

"Please tell me you said the same thing to Vasquez."

"As a matter of fact, I did. I know relationships aren't perfect." Hudson deflated a little. "I . . . just hope mine doesn't crash and burn."

I sighed. "Look, I know you and Miranda have had limited contact, but, I have a surprise for you. I actually called Delhoun, a few weeks ago, and asked if he could bring her to the party. Two days ago, he called me back and said that she was on his ticket, and she'll be there."

Hudson was speechless. He smiled again. "Well, gee, man, that's . . . that's your Christmas present to me, I guess. You don't need to bother buying me anything! Thanks, man! Wow, she's actually gonna be there . . . I better look OK."

"You'll be fine." A weak smile began tugging at the edges of my mouth, and I roughly tousled Hudson's hair. There was a brief moment of happiness, and I was trying to will it to last. The more I focused on that emotion, the quicker it fled, and I felt like I was staring at a fading spot where that little glow of happiness once stood.

Getting ready to leave meant I didn't have my appointment with Ranelli, and I didn't want to talk to him on the plane because there were too many people within earshot. After strapping my bag into the cargo hold, I headed in the plane with the rest of my unit. Hicks was already sitting next to Apone, and Hudson was with Crowe. Vasquez was sitting with Dietrich, which left Ferro on her own. A part of me didn't want to sit next to her, but I also felt bad she was by herself. However, I was feeling awful about how I couldn't stay happy for more than a minute, and I didn't want my sadness rubbing off on others.

I sat by a window, in an aisle by myself. I really didn't want to start crying, but shortly after takeoff, I couldn't hold it in anymore. Making sure no one was looking at me, I sobbed quietly. I guess I wasn't quiet enough, because not too long after I started, I felt someone touch my shoulder. Turned out Ferro heard me crying and decided to come over and comfort me. Not saying a word, she squeezed and rubbed my shoulder as she sat down. When I calmed down, she whispered, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," I said. "Not looking forward to this, that's all."

"Worried people are gonna look at you funny?"

"Worried that I'm going to suffer throughout it. I can't be happy for long periods of time. I'll be happy for maybe five minutes, but then . . . then I'm miserable the rest of the day. I don't want to be there if I'm just going to be sad the whole time."

"We'll do our best to keep you going, Drake. Don't worry about it."

I didn't smile. "Thanks."

* * *

When we landed in Norway, it was lightly snowing, and the sky was a dull, pale-gray color. A small bus took us to the hotel, which was right in the heart of Oslo, which, like many European cities, was a blend of old and new architecture. The hotel was in an area dominated by older architecture, much of which was restored buildings that were originally built two hundred years ago.

We stepped into a lobby that was both old-fashioned and romantic. A couple of Marines in dress uniforms walked up to Apone and Hicks, smiling and shaking their hands before escorting all of us to our rooms. I was a little surprised that we each had our own rooms instead of being paired up with someone, but I guess that was Apone's present to us since we were already bunking with each other back on base.

Once we had our rooms, we were free. I could hear Hicks talking to someone in the next room. As I set my duffel bag on the bed, I heard Hudson out in the hallway, asking Apone if he could get something to eat.

"Don't stuff yourself tonight, because there's gonna be a ton of shit for you guys tomorrow," Apone said.

"Looking forward to it, Sarge," Hudson replied before jogging down to the hotel's bar.

My heart sank a little because he didn't bother inviting me to go with him, but I brushed it off and decided to write in my journal for the next several hours. We were all allowed to go downstairs whenever we wanted, but, as you might be thinking, I didn't really want to. Eventually, though, my brain caved in to my stomach's annoyed grumbling, and I snapped shut my journal to head downstairs.

I was aware that I was dressed in my uniform pants and a black sweater with the USCM emblem on the left side of my chest, and it all counts as being within regs, but I had a feeling that the guys walking around in dress uniforms were thinking my unit was made up of slobs. All I could do was hope Hudson didn't embarrass all of us by, well, being Hudson.

It was a relief to see Hudson sitting quietly by himself at the bar, drinking a mug of beer and eating a basket of fried seafood. I sat next to him, and asked the bartender for a can of Coors and a mug before glancing at Hudson. "Enjoying yourself?"

"So far, man," Hudson replied. "You?"

"We just got here. I'm already just . . . I feel like I'm gonna crash any minute."

Hudson patted my shoulder. "Well, don't. By the way, do you know if Delhoun and Miranda are here?"

"No." I gulped down half my drink. "I bet the front desk can tell you. Besides, they'll be here tomorrow night."

"I just wanna say 'hi.'" Hudson blushed a little. "Really excited, man."

"Well, I'm glad you're happy." I finished my drink, and ordered a second.

"You sound upset, man. Do you need to talk?"

"This morning. Remember how I was . . . happy for you because you're excited you're gonna see Miranda? That happiness didn't last very long, and I'm afraid that's going to happen at the party tomorrow. I'll be happy for a very short amount of time, and the whole rest of the evening will be miserable. I don't want to be that way. I don't want to drag everyone down and make everyone concerned about me. You guys deserve to have fun. I . . . don't."

"That's bullshit, man. You'll have fun, and you'll be happy. Trust me, OK?" Hudson patted my back.

I gave a heavy sigh. "I trust you, but I'm also not sure."

"That's OK. Let stuff happen." Hudson leaned in to whisper. "Plus, you and Vasquez are celebrating Christmas early, right?"

I nodded.

"After dinner, come to my room so I can give you your present, man, and then I'll let you go to her." He grinned. "Make her night."

* * *

 _Question: Should Drake go against Hicks's judgement and leave his medal off to keep it from haunting him at the party?_


	11. Chapter 11

I followed Hudson up to his room so he could give me this present he claims he has. I wasn't expecting much, to be honest, and I was fine with that. Hudson unzipped his duffel bag, rummaging around until he found a plastic bag from a store. "I didn't wrap it up all pretty, man," he said, handing it to me. "Hope you like it anyways."

The first thing I pulled out was a hardcover book with gold accents. It was blank, so obviously, it was a journal. "OK, it's . . . a fancy journal. I can get these anywhere."

"Look on the spine, man. I had your name engraved in it."

I think most people would say something like that is a little . . . pointless, I guess. I stared at it, though, and a weak smile came across my face. "Thanks, Hudson."

"No problem, man. I was talking to the cashier lady at a gift shop, and I says, 'My friend keeps a daily journal. Got anything appealing to that?' and she gave me that, saying, 'You can pay an extra five to have their name engraved on the side. That personal touch is always nice.'"

There were two more items in the bag. I reached in and took out a package of pens. Not the cheapo pens I get from dollar stores and USCM chains, but the good, long-lasting, nice-looking pens. The ones with the metal clips and large inkwells. Hell, I'm writing this entry with one of those things. "Wow, you went . . . above and beyond, Hudson. These'll last me . . . two years, I suppose."

"And there's one more gift for you, man."

The last gift was a wooden picture frame. My name and Vasquez's name had been etched at the bottom, along with some heart designs.

"I know you've been wanting to have a picture taken with her, man. I saw that and thought that your first picture with her should be kept in something special."

I finally had a real smile on my face. "Dammit, Hudson, you're gonna make me cry, you idiot."

"Well, don't cry, man, you still gotta go impress your girl." Hudson gave me a tight squeeze, and patted my back. He then let go, and shook me. "Go make her night, Drake. You still got your special undies on?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Go on." He slapped my shoulder. "You got this, man! I'll be down in the bar if you need me."

I headed back to my room, and grabbed the wrapped gifts from my duffel bag. There was a part of me that was a little nervous considering Vasquez and I had been separated for a few days, and I had no idea what she was thinking or feeling at that time. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on her door, the presents behind my back.

Frankly, I was shocked to see Vasquez had been crying, and I don't think she had left the room since we all arrived. That's not like her. Without a word, she pulled me into the room, and shut the door, locking it before taking the presents from my hands and placing them on the bed. She hugged me and kissed me, her arms wrapped around my neck. Then, she pushed me into the bed, laying on top of me before saying, "I've been waiting to do that for six days!"

I grinned. "I've been waiting, too. So . . . how are you?"

"Better. A lot better now."

"Should we talk before we get to the sappy Christmas stuff?"

"No. I want to be happy. I don't want to risk getting into another argument. I want to just . . . escape for a little bit."

"OK. That sounds fine to me." I picked up one of the wrapped gifts-the book with fifty things I love about her (it's actually around twenty or twenty-five), and handed it to her.

"Did you wrap these?"

I snorted. "No. I'm not that talented. Doctor Ranelli did."

Vasquez was shaking her head and smirking when she saw the book. "Of course, you got something dumb and sappy."

"Aw, come on. You can read through that if you need to feel some love."

She began flipping through it. "It's . . . half-empty, Drake."

"I know." I swallowed nervously. "There's a lot of things that . . . neither of us have experienced, and, you know, there were some questions I couldn't answer. I'm really sorry, honey."

"Don't be. I'll enjoy reading this whenever I have a bad day."

I handed her the tiny box containing the amethyst necklace, which was bundled with the teddy bear.

"Drake, you're an ass, sometimes." Vasquez held up the bear. "Does every gift have some level of sappiness?"

"No. One of them is sexy, and that's the only hint I'll give."

"Can't wait." Vasquez took the lid off the box, and gently touched the necklace. "Drake . . . it's . . ."

"Beautiful?"

"Yeah, but . . . how would I look in it?"

Put it on and see." I unhooked the clasp, and carefully placed it around her neck. The gemstone glinted whenever light from the bedside lamp hit it. "Wow."

"What?"

"I don't think I tell you 'you're beautiful' enough. I don't think I'll ever see, in my entire life, a more beautiful, intelligent, and badass woman than you. Unless we have a daughter. Then I'll see two beautiful, intelligent, and badass women every day."

"I think, deep down, you want a baby girl."

"I really don't care what we have. But . . . if we do have a girl, I have a name idea that I hope you like."

"What is it?"

"Bridget."

Vasquez thought about that for a moment. "OK. I like it, and if we have a girl, I'll consider it. Just, out of curiosity, how'd you come up with 'Bridget?'"

"I don't really remember. I must've heard it somewhere and thought it'd be a good baby name."

"Alright. Do you have any boy names?"

"Two, actually. What do you think of . . . Daniel or Andrew?"

"I think they're nice. I also think we might come up with something different by the time we're ready."

"Yeah, that's possible." I kissed Vasquez's cheek. "Ready for you next gift?"

"Sure."

I gave her the wrapped paint set. "I knew you've been wanting to put something personal on your armor and smartgun, but there's not a lot of stuff left in the armory, so I got you your own."

"What about you? Didn't you want to paint your new weapon?"

"I already did, and I put something in my armor that . . . I'm not comfortable showing everyone else."

"You can tell me."

"OK. It's . . . an Annexer pawprint. I carved it on the armor interior. I'll show you when we get home. Now, I've got one last gift for you, and, be warned, I got the wrong size, but Hudson said that's fine." I stood up, and began removing my shirt and pants. What I didn't expect was the room to be kinda cold. I smirked a little as I stood there in my underwear. "I made sure it was in your favorite color."

Vasquez shook her head while smiling. "That is the wrong size alright, but I'm not gonna complain too much. I'm more impressed at the fact that you still have abs."

"You think they're pathetic, don't you?"

"No. If you flex a little, maybe they'll show more-I said flex, not suck in your gut."

"Sorry. Only way I can flex my abs is by doing a sit-up."

"Lie down on the floor. I'll help."

"I'm terrible at sit-ups, honey."

"Just do it." Vasquez knelt on my socks, and rested her arms on my knees. Her smile got bigger as I tried to do a sit-up. "Nice. Come on, do more."

I laughed. "I get a reward after this, right?"

"Aww, of course you do." She reached over to run her finger under my chin. "Give me five more. And you have to kiss me each time you come up."

"OK." I sat up, kissed her, and went back down, which I repeated four more times.

"See? You can do it." Vasquez got up. "Time for your present." She went through her duffel bag, and pulled out a small, crudely wrapped item. "Here. I thought it'd go good with your Annexer bones."

I took off the wrapping, seeing a tiny gold pendent. "Alright, what's the story on this?" I said, grinning.

"Well, it's a sand dollar pendent. Hudson and I dug it up at the beach by the abandoned parts of Hueco. We didn't find anything in the city, so we started looking around the beach for little things we thought you wouldn't mind making another . . . weird necklace out of."

"Hey, I didn't choose to receive this," I said, toying with the hare bone necklace. "A Polar Annexer thought I was 'worthy.'"

"Whatever. I . . . I thought you'd like it."

"I do like it. It's a little weird, but, it certainly fits with the hare bones for that reason. Maybe when we get back, we can go out and look for raven feathers and other weird shit."

"Well, we don't need all that getting in the way for now-" Vasquez took the pendent and the hare bones from my neck. "If you forgot protection, I have some in my bag."

I grinned. "It's only seven-thirty."

"So? I'm ready."

"I'd . . . How about we shower first? I sweat when I did the sit-ups, and I'd hate to be all gross when we get busy."

Vasquez sighed. "Fine. Hurry up."

I left her room in a good mood, and, looking back on that night, I realize that I wasn't all that concerned about maintaining that happiness. I was just glad that we weren't fighting about stupid things. After taking a quick shower, I went out into the hallway, only to see Hicks walking by. He didn't look happy at all. At first, I was afraid that Hudson had done something stupid, but it didn't take long to realize that wasn't the case. Before he could slam shut his door, I reached out to him. "Wait, Hicks! What's going on?"

"Not now! Leave me alone!" Hicks snarled.

"Something's wrong-"

"Isn't it obvious? I said, leave me alone." He shoved me back out into the hallway. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now!"

The door was shut in my face, and I decided it wasn't worth the effort right now.

I went into Vasquez's room, finding she was still in the shower, so I sat on the bed and tried not to think about Hicks. My guess was that someone said something bad about his friend, the one who hung himself in a ballroom. _Just let him go for now. Let him be alone and gather his thoughts._

A few minutes later, Vasquez came out of the bathroom, looking confused. "I heard someone yelling. Is everything OK?"

"Hicks is upset about something," I replied. "He's not in the mood to talk about it."

"Ah." Vasquez got under the covers, and gestured for me to climb in as well. We began kissing to get a passionate moment going, let one thing lead to another. I'll admit, we tried to get a little adventurous, but nothing too crazy.

I don't know how long we spent in that moment, but it was undoubtedly an incredible moment. No interruptions. No arguments. Nothing. Just me and her. Everything melted away temporarily. We were not thinking about any of our problems, our past traumas, our other relationships. Our thoughts were on us.

We eventually pulled apart, and lay next to each other, smiling. I'm pretty sure other people would've written overly sappy paragraphs describing how they felt their heart and their partner's heart were beating in sync, how they were breathing, etc. I'm not, because . . . I dunno. Being able to not feel bothered by everything was enough for me. I don't even think we spoke to each other the whole time. We just held each other tightly, and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

We woke up in a good mood, something I haven't experienced in a really long time. I gave Vasquez a kiss on the cheek, and whispered, "Good morning, sweetheart."

"'Morning, Drake," Vasquez whispered back.

I smirked, pressing my forehead against hers. "How'd you sleep?"

"Great. You?"

"No nightmares, for once. No waking up at stupid hours. Hell, I didn't even have to get up to pee."

"I take it that's a step in the right direction for you?"

I nodded, then sighed. "But, it's morning, and we have to return to our regular lives. I know tonight's the party, but, you know how I feel about that."

"I do know. I think you're gonna be fine." Vasquez glanced toward the door. "We should get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast."

"Why? I'm not hungry at all, and I had a light dinner."

"You're going to be moody and unpleasant if you don't eat. I know you." She kissed the tip of my nose. "Besides, Apone and Hicks will be on your ass if you refuse to eat."

I remembered that Hicks was in a foul mood last night, for some reason. "I should probably see if Hicks is OK. Hopefully, he'll tell me what happened that made him upset." I sat up, grabbing my bone necklace and new pendent from the nightstand. "Maybe you can stay in my room tonight."

"Sure."

I listened for people outside in the hallway as I tied the waistband of my bathrobe. When I didn't hear anything, I quickly left the room, and ducked into mine. No one would ever know. Well, except for Hudson.

Speaking of Hudson, he was already downstairs in the breakfast bar when Vasquez and I arrived, and promptly waved us over. "There's our two lovebirds," he said.

"We're in public, so shut up," Vasquez snapped.

"It's just us, man. Relax."

"Did you already eat?" I asked, trying to change the topic.

"No. I'm enjoying coffee while waiting for my breakfast," Hudson replied. "This's some pretty good coffee, too."

"What'd you order?"

"Um . . ." Before Hudson could answer, a waiter came over with a tray, loaded down with around five courses.

"Everything?"

"No, not everything. This is not even half the menu, man." Hudson picked up a fork and began digging into the large stack of waffles, dripping with syrup and butter, and topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream.

"You know, I don't think Miranda is gonna find this attractive," I said.

"I don't think she's gonna care, man." Hudson put sticky forkful in his mouth, and gave a contented sigh. "Oh . . . man, these're good. You should order some, with _all_ the fixings."

"I'll just have a bagel with cream cheese," I replied.

"Yeah. Besides, we're getting a good-sized buffet tonight," Vasquez added.

"I know. I'll have room by then," Hudson said.

"You're not gonna ignore Miranda because you're stuffing your face tonight, are you?" I asked.

"No, of course not," Hudson replied, with his mouth full. "I know we need to talk about things."

Vasquez looked at me, then back at Hudson. "Look . . . can we give you some advice?"

"Sure!"

"Can you not talk with your mouth full, and wipe the syrup off your face?" Vasquez took a breath. "OK, Hudson, dumbass, you . . . tonight, you need to focus all your energy on Miranda. Can you do that?"

Hudson nodded.

"You know that she's a little sensitive, right?" I said. "Don't be distracted when you're talking to her, because then she's gonna assume she's not good enough for you."

"And don't goof off. There's a lot of shit you do that can be a major turnoff," Vasquez said.

Hudson glanced between us. "So, you're saying . . . don't act like myself?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, I . . . I didn't exactly connect with Miranda by _not_ being myself. I mean, I was a little goofy when we were in that pizza place in D.C., man. She was still interested in me." Now Hudson looked a little embarrassed. "Things could change, though." He pushed his plate away. "Man, I don't wanna screw this up."

"We're trying to help."

"No, you're not. You're just pointing out that the only thing I'm fucking good for are one-night stands!"

"Hudson-"

"Nope! I don't want anymore. You think you know everything because you're together and you think what works for you two is gonna work for everyone else! Well, guess what: it's not, man! I don't want your advice. I know Miranda likes me for who I am, so that's exactly what I'm gonna be tonight." With that, Hudson picked up his plate and coffee, and went to another table.

I gave Vasquez a dirty look. "Nice job, honey."

"Really? You went along with it!" she snapped. "He said 'yes' when I offered it."

"Forget it. We both fucked up and now he's upset." I sighed. "I just hope he doesn't make a fool of himself."

"This is Hudson we're talking about. He's going to embarrass himself, the whole squadron, Apone, and worst of all, the Marine brass that're gonna be here."

"You know what? I think he'll be fine. He's a smart guy, and I don't think he'll be too much of a goofball in front of the brass."

"You keep hoping that."

I smirked. "Aww, do you think I'm wrong?"

"No."

"You can say that I'm wrong. I don't care."

"Drake, stop."

I kissed her cheek. "You think I'm wrong. That's adorable."

Vasquez grabbed my jaw. "I said, 'stop.' You are really annoying today."

"It's only eight-thirty, baby. I have all day to just get more and more annoying."

"Well, please don't." Vasquez patted my head, and ruffled my hair. "What the hell should we do all day?"

"There's a lounge next to the bar. Maybe we can go sit by the fire and cuddle."

"And what if there are people in there?"

"We can . . . sit and talk about what's been going on the last few days. Without getting angry. We can do that."

She nodded. "OK. We really should do that."

"Alright. We gotta shake on the 'not getting angry' part." I held out my hand.

"Sure." She grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard while shaking. "It's a promise. I won't get angry if you won't."

"Agreed."

* * *

 _Question: Out of all the flaws Hudson has, which one could potentially be his downfall in a relationship?_

 _Author's Note: This is definitely one of those fluffy chapters where a majority of it is spent on Drake and Vasquez talking about their future and making their deaths even more tragic._

 _I do love Drake's little trinkets that he wears around his neck and on his hat, because it adds a lot to his character. I feel like there's an interesting story behind each item. There aren't that many good close-up shots of his stuff, so it took awhile to see what some of them are. One item looks like a tiny gold sand dollar. I don't know for sure what it is. I thought it looked a little like a sand dollar._


	12. Chapter 12

As promised, Vasquez and I went to the hotel lounge after breakfast. Much to our luck, the lounge was empty, and covered with Christmas décor.

However, our luck didn't last very long. As soon as we sat down on the couch, ready to snuggle, Ferro walked in the room, and waved at us. "'Morning, Drake, Vasquez."

"Good morning," I said. "Care to join us?"

"Drake!" Vasquez backhanded me sharply.

"Ow! Come on, I'm just being polite."

Ferro's smile began to fade. "If you guys wanted privacy, I can leave."

"No, no! It's Christmas! We should all . . . be together and . . . you know, talk. Forget our differences and problems for a little while."

Vasquez accepted my logic, and she let Ferro sit with us.

I never got to tell Vasquez that I had taken Ferro out for drinks in order to break the news that we were dating, so she was definitely a little behind on what was going on. What surprised her was that I had told Ferro my whole story, but I had the impression that she was proud of me for managing to open up to other people about what was going on.

After things were cleared up between Vasquez and Ferro, we shifted the conversation elsewhere, and Ferro asked, "Have either of you see Hicks this morning? He got into a fight with someone from another unit last night?"

"Like a fistfight?" I asked.

"No. Just a lot of yelling," Ferro replied. "Something about an old friend of his who died close to Christmas. Apparently someone said something bad, and Hicks flew off the handle."

"Well, I haven't seen him. He's probably still in his room." I stood up. "I'm gonna go check on him, see if he's OK."

"Good idea."

* * *

I hesitated a little before knocking on Hicks's door. I expected for him to tell me to go away, but instead, I heard, "Come in, it's unlocked."

Shyly, I opened the door. Hicks was sitting up in bed with the TV on. He was watching the daily weather with the mute button turned on, and a cup of coffee was in his lap. I closed the door behind me, and said, "Are you OK?"

Hicks nodded. "I made a mistake last night, that's all. Two, actually. I should've kept my emotions in check, and I shouldn't have pushed you away when you were obviously concerned."

"Don't feel too bad about it. It's . . . something I still need to learn. What exactly happened? Ferro said someone said something bad about Paulson."

"Yeah. Guy in another unit said Paulson was really soft when it came to discipline. I told him he was wrong, and . . . things escalated. I had to leave the situation before it got out of hand, but it looked like I was quitting or afraid to debate. And I just wanted to be alone for a little while. I'm sorry, Drake."

"I kinda fucked up this morning, too," I said. "Hudson's a bit nervous because a girl he's been writing is attending the party tonight, and I tried giving him advice. I wasn't very helpful. He's right; all I did was make him sound like he's . . . not good enough for anyone. I mean, am I wrong that he can be a moron sometimes?"

"No, but there's a way of saying that without being an ass yourself. He's pretty much aware that he's loud, obnoxious, goofy, sometimes indulgent, but none of that has ever taken away from the fact that he cares about the rest of us. It's what makes him a human being. Are you supposed to act like . . . well, Hudson around a girl? No. I think he'll figure it out on his own. Don't make him feel bad, especially since he's been trying to help you ever since you got diagnosed with PTSD. That's not fair."

"Speaking of my PTSD, I'm still worried about what could happen tonight."

"That's not gonna change, Drake. You remember what I said to you, right? If you feel like you need to leave the room, let me know. I'll take you out to the hall, and we'll just sit and let you breathe. Not a big deal. And, by the way-" Hicks set his coffee on the nightstand before getting out of bed, "I got you something that I hope comes in handy on a daily basis." He opened his duffel bag, and took out a wrapped, rectangular item.

"Geez, I didn't expect so many people to be giving me Christmas presents," I said, taking the tape and wrapping paper off. Underneath was a book, not a blank journal. It was a thick book containing pieces of advice regarding coping with your mental health problems on a day-to-day level after you've started treatment. Somehow, I knew it would be helpful due to the sheer number of everyday topics covered in the table of contents, and I gave Hicks a genuine smile. "Thanks. I'll definitely be reading this on the way home."

"No problem. Doctor Ranelli told me he'd given that to a number a patients in the past, so, consider it a gift from both me and him." Hicks closed his bag, and set it back on the floor. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Yeah. I was talking with Vasquez and Ferro and . . . I decided to come see how you were doing because we were worried about you."

Hicks nodded a little. "I don't have much of an appetite right now, but I'm gonna force myself to have something." He put an unlit cigarette in his mouth, and searched his coat pockets for his lighter.

"Sounds like there's still something on your mind."

Another nod. "It's weird. I'm well-aware I suffer from anniversary syndrome in regards to Paulson's death, and yet I feel completely unprepared to deal with it. I know exactly what's gonna happen, but I know when it happens, I'm . . . I'm powerless." A sad smile crossed his face. "You know, when I first saw you walk into our base two years ago, I didn't think I'd be relying on you to help me with something so personal. At the same time, I had this impression that . . . you were going to need help one day, and here we are now. Drake . . . all I ask is that you help me when I need it tonight. Walk with me out in the hallway, and just . . . don't leave. That's all I ask. Can you do that?"

I was a little surprised that Hicks was asking so much of me, mainly because I was quite literally years behind him in progress with my own problems. But, hey, if he trusts me, I should do what he wants, and helping him shouldn't be that hard. After all, he promised to help me tonight. Only fair I do the same.

* * *

It was around four when we all had to get our dress uniforms on and head down to the ballroom for the party. I saw there were a lot of people, both civilians and Marines. Doctors Delhoun, Hornby, and Ranelli were seated at one of the VIP tables, and Miranda Harrison was next to Delhoun, whose Annexer, Winnie, was on the floor, cooing happily as she lapped water out of a wineglass. What annoyed the shit out of me was the fact that General Russell had to make my entire unit stand in formation so he could honor us for our work in northern Norway last month. There's nothing wrong with that; I just didn't want to stand. And I still felt like I didn't deserve any honor whatsoever.

Worst of all was the medal around my neck. I glanced down at it while Russell talked, and my thoughts were yanked back into the recesses of my head. My vision faded, and suddenly, I was seeing myself running into that abandoned building in Brisbane, Australia. I could feel the cold, dense air, and smelled the sickly sweet scent of the silver flowers, despite wearing a gas mask. I could hear one of Delhoun's Annexers, Dakota, screeching, trying to call for help. I could see Hudson laying lifeless on the floor, between tables of growing flowers.

I moved him on his back, seeing the foam around his mouth, and the violet color of his face. He clawed at me, gasping, coughing, choking on his own breath. He grabbed at his throat, continuing to fail to get air into his lungs. He was mouthing, "Help me."

Help me.

I put Hudson over my shoulders, running to escape the building. Instead of escaping, I found we were lost, and I kept hearing that awful choking sound coming from Hudson.

At that moment, everything went dark. It was impossible to tell if this was part of my flashback, or something happened in real life. It didn't take long to figure out that I had fainted, and I came around to see Hicks helping me sit up.

"Easy, easy, try not to spook him," Hicks said. "Sarge, can I have a chair and some water?"

"Is he OK, man?" Hudson asked.

"I think he'll be fine," Hicks replied. "He's coming to. Drake? Everything's OK. You're alright." He relaxed his grip on my arms as I fully regained consciousness.

Apone set a glass of water on the table I had been seated at, then turned to face General Russell. "Sir, I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Russell replied. "How's Drake doing?"

"Take off the medal," I groaned.

"We're not taking off the medal," Hicks said.

"Please, I'm begging you!"

"No. You can do this, come on."

"No, I can't!"

Hicks gripped my shoulders again, and shook me. "Listen to me! Remember what I told you? You're not giving up. Taking off your medal means giving up. I'm not letting you give up, dammit. No more. You need to stop running away from shit that makes you uncomfortable."

There were over fifty people in that room, and I cried in front of all of them. I don't know over half of them, and I was pretty sure they all thought I was weak and emotionally unstable.

Hudson broke formation to hug me, and whisper, "If you gave up when I was stuck in that building, I wouldn't be here, man."

He's right. I know I'm capable of not giving up. Rescuing him mattered more than saving my own skin. If he was in trouble, I'd do it again, without question.

Everyone was finally allowed to mingle after Russell wrapped up his speech. Christmas music started playing, just audible over the murmur of voices. I was still a little dizzy, but part of that was due to me not eating any salt all day.

I should take a moment to describe how impressive the food table was. Someone went to great lengths to make sure we had plenty to eat; there was roast turkey, roast chicken, chicken wings and tenders of all flavors, seafood, fruit platters, vegetable platters, lots of chips, large bowls of dips and dressings, soups, potatoes, corn, hot sandwiches, rolls, butter, cold cuts, cheese and cracker plates, and a salad bar. And then there were desserts. Cakes, pies, cookies, hot fudge, chopped nuts, ice cream, chocolates, cherry cordials, jars of honey, graham crackers, whipped cream, caramel sauce. And of course there were beverages. Hot chocolate, coffee, tea, and a whole lot of alcohol.

Hudson (much to my surprise) walked over to where Miranda was sitting, and nervously asked if she wanted to join him. She nodded, and followed him back to our table. Smiling, she gave me a hug, and asked, "You feeling OK, Mark?"

"I'm alright," I said. "You?"

"Oh, I'm great! This is the first time I've been overseas. Thank you for inviting me here."

"Well . . . I thought you and Hudson needed to bond."

Miranda turned to face Hudson, but he had disappeared. Naturally, he was at the buffet, with a few beer bottles tucked under his arm.

"Don't feel bad. He'll be back," I said. "So, how's your new semester at the university?"

"Last one, so, it's been good so far," Miranda replied. "I'm job-shadowing at a nearby hospital, and it looks like I should have a position secured by the time I graduate."

"That's great. You'll be working right after?"

"Yes. Even better, I'm meeting new people and making some friends."

"Are you keeping your android, Mathias?"

"Definitely. I . . . I can't thank you enough for helping us out, Mark. I'm so glad that I have Mathias back. Even better, he's not being broken in the middle of the night for tests anymore. I'm . . . I'm working with live people now."

"That's gotta be challenging."

"Not as challenging as I've thought. Working on Mathias helped." Miranda glanced in Hudson's direction. "His letters have been giving me something to look forward to every week."

"You think you two have a shot together?"

"Yeah. We've been writing about everything, but . . . I can't wait to have an actual face-to-face conversation with him."

Vasquez looked at Hudson in the corner of her eye. "I don't know if you'll be able to do that while he's drunk."

"He knows how to be responsible," I said.

"Hey, guys!" Hudson set his plate and drinks on the table, and then ran back to grab two bowls of dip he got for his wings and chips. "OK, sorry 'bout that-" he sat down, and took a bottle opener from a dish of utensils in the center of the table. "What're we talking about?"

"Miranda's senior semester," I replied.

"Oh, yeah, you were telling me it's been going good so far," Hudson said, looking at Miranda. "And I told you we got moved to Spain."

"Yeah. I hope you can be moved closer to D.C. next time," Miranda said.

"We're on a cycle," I added, taking a spoonful of clam chowder. "We'll probably be in Europe for three, maybe four months, then get shipped to North America. I believe it's . . . yeah, it'll go Europe, North America, South America, Asia, Africa, Australia, then Europe again."

"Ever been in Antarctica? I thought there were bases there."

"Nothing ever happens there, so, the only people who go there are units stationed in South America or Australia. I don't think any of us have been in Antarctica."

"I have, man," Hudson chirped. "Though . . . not with any unit. It's kind of a long story."

"I'm intrigued," Vasquez said, even though she didn't sound very intrigued.

"Well, I kinda got kidnapped when I was out on leave in Havana. Apparently, in civvie clothes, I looked like somebody this gang wanted, but when they found out they had the wrong guy, they sedated me and dumped me on a supply plane headed to Antarctica so I couldn't tell anyone, and because they'd get in even bigger trouble for killing a Marine."

"How'd you escape?"

"I had to hide out in the Antarctic base for a few days before another supply plane came around. Man, was it cold. Surviving was a doozy. I'll have to tell you the full details when it's just us someday, otherwise, we'll be here all night!"

"Because you never, ever talk," Vasquez muttered.

"Be nice, honey," I said, grinning a little. "We're on a double date here."

Vasquez managed to smile. "Alright. You know what? You three talk, and I'm gonna fix a plate for myself."

"You do that, sweetheart. Hey, can you grab me a bottle of whiskey while you're up there?"

"Sure. Are we sharing?"

"Yeah. Don't forget to get yourself a glass." When I turned back to Hudson and Miranda, I saw they were bumping foreheads and Miranda was kissing the tip of Hudson's nose. "On second thought, I'll go with you, Vasquez." I rushed over to her, standing next to her in line for the food table. "They're having a moment," I whispered.

"What kind of moment?" she asked.

"Kissy, cutesy, you know, nuzzling each other, like we do."

"Oh. Well, that's not bad. They're not French-kissing."

"Dear God," I gagged. "That's not somewhere we plan on going."

"No. French-kissing is too far for me."

"Is it weird we're not very adventurous with kissing? I know some people like to bite, or kiss other parts of the body, or . . . I dunno."

"No, Drake, it's not weird. What's weird is that you have certain places that you like being touched when we cuddle."

"We're in public. We will not speak of that here."

"Says the guy who dragged on the conversation about French-kissing."

"You brought it up."

"That didn't mean you had to continue."

"OK, I'm sorry," I laughed.

We lingered a little by the table, talking to each other, and to some of the Marines. Even Delhoun was up there, chatting away while Winnie weaved in between my legs, purring and occasionally hopping onto her hind legs to squeal at me for attention. During that happy little moment, I noticed Hicks pushing open the doors to a second banquet hall that wasn't being used.

I thought for a moment, then handed Winnie back to Delhoun. "I'll be right back." I pushed through a small crowd of people before getting to the doors. As soon as the doors closed behind me, there was silence, aside from a gentle murmur in the other room. "Hicks?"

Hicks was sitting on a bench in between two ornate pillars, staring out a large window giving him a view of the Oslo skyline. He had just lit a cigarette, and was sliding the lighter back in his pocket as he looked over his shoulder to see me. "Hey, Drake," he said.

"You OK?"

"For now, yeah. I just . . . got hit with a low mood, that's all. I need some quiet for a few minutes, if you know what I mean."

I sat next to him, and as I regained my thoughts, I realized the dress uniform is really uncomfortable when sitting down, and that I was holding a glass of whiskey. "When are we going back to Spain?" I asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Hicks replied. "Personally, I . . . want to go home. I haven't taken leave in almost a year. I've got a lot of days I can use if I want."

"Wish I had a place to call home," I mumbled, looking down at my glass.

"I think you'll get that, someday. It won't be tomorrow, or even next week, but it'll happen."

"You know I'm not a very patient person, right?"

"I know. Not every person is naturally patient. It's something you gotta learn, because it's necessary for life, almost as necessary as learning how to cook or drive."

"Well, I can drive, but I don't think I can cook."

Hicks grinned. "When we get back to base, I can sign you up for a life skills course. They'll teach you all the little things you'll need for when you become a civilian again. Plus, it'll give you something to think about so your mind isn't dwelling on your PTSD all the time."

"If you think it'll help, I'll give it a shot," I said. A moment later, I glanced at Hicks. "You feeling better?"

"A little, yeah. I'll go back in there in a few minutes."

"You'll be OK by yourself?"

Hicks nodded.

"Alright, well, I'm going back in. Wish me luck." I downed the last of my drink before heading back into the banquet hall. I saw Vasquez was talking to Delhoun at the other side of the room, and glanced at our table to see Hudson with three empty beer bottles in front of him, along with a slice of ice cream cake that was dripping with hot fudge. He was slurring something about his time in D.C. with me and Vasquez a few months ago, and Miranda was actually listening. Frankly, I was worried Apone or someone among the brass would see them, but I noticed that even they were enjoying themselves, talking about home and their families and laughing about events in their pasts. My heart started to ache as I listened, wondering if I would ever be able to sit down and joke about my past. Maybe when I'm able to effectively cope with my PTSD will I be able to look at some of the stuff in my past and smile rather than cry.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Hudson and Miranda were hugging. Hudson had stopped talking, and, for a moment, I wondered if he'd passed out. It turned out he didn't, and he hiccupped before giving Miranda a kiss on the forehead.

 _Just let them go. This isn't your relationship._ I walked over to Vasquez and Delhoun, who, I might add, was wearing a fancy suit that was about as stark-white as he is. A poinsettia that matched his eyes was in his left breast pocket, and he was holding a glass of red wine.

"And now we have the lovely couple together again," Delhoun said, quietly enough so only the three of us could hear. "You two do look nice-Drake, in your dress blues, and Vasquez, in your evening gown. I can only imagine how your wedding would turn out."

I gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, we're . . . not ready to talk about that just yet, Delhoun."

"Weddings are expensive, so, it might be a good idea for you to plan ahead. Besides, I don't think you'd mind some help in that department."

"We have three years before we can make the decision to leave the Marines or not," Vasquez said.

"Right, but still-"

We heard a heavy _thud_ on the other side of the room. Hudson had tripped over his own feet when getting out of his seat, and Miranda was helping him up. With that, they left the room, in the direction of the hotel suites we were staying in.

* * *

 _Question: How would things change if Drake had failed to rescue Hudson in the past?_


	13. Chapter 13

I looked at Vasquez and Delhoun, and I think we were all thinking the same thing. "You think they're gonna go-"

"Yes," Vasquez replied. "Don't say anymore."

"Is this something Hudson can be punished for?" Delhoun asked.

"No. Not unless someone doesn't consent," I said.

"Hudson's drunk," Vasquez interjected. "And you know what? I wouldn't be surprised if Miranda's taking advantage of him."

"She's not like that, sweetheart," I muttered.

"Don't say that just because you're friends with her. Because of what she did to you, I don't trust her."

"We kissed, honey, we didn't do anything beyond that."

Vasquez sighed, and set her glass down before hurrying toward the doors.

"God, do you trust me at all?" I said while following her.

"I trust _you_. I don't trust _her_ ," Vasquez yelled over her shoulder.

We jogged upstairs, just in time to see someone closing the door to Hudson's room. Vasquez and I tiptoed over, and stood next to the door, staying quiet as we listened.

"Honestly, this is far more entertaining than the party," I whispered.

"Shut up! I'm trying to hear what they're doing!" Vasquez elbowed me in the ribs.

"OK, let's be reasonable, honey; they're probably having sex. We should give them privacy."

"Do you realize how much trouble _she_ could get into if we find out Hudson didn't consent?"

"And I'm telling you that's not in Miranda's character. She wouldn't take advantage of a guy when he's drunk. I know she seems like a hopeless romantic and that she'd do something when the moment presents itself, but she's not totally desperate. Hudson might not be that drunk. Maybe they're both drunk. Maybe he's just loopy because he's been stuffing himself all night."

Vasquez clenched her fists. "Drake-"

"Please, trust me. I don't think there's anything wrong here."

"Alright, but can we still listen? Just to be on the safe side?"

"You do know that this is borderline creepy, right?"

"I don't want Hudson getting himself hurt!"

I sighed. "Fine."

We heard a lot of giggling at first, followed by Hudson saying, "That tickles, man, I don't like it!" He then burst into laughter.

"Feeling uncomfortable yet?" I asked.

"Not quite," Vasquez whispered.

"Want me to go get some popcorn?"

"No!"

"OK, just asking." I smirked.

Hudson stopped laughing, and breathed hard while saying, "I-I gotta puke, so let me up."

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry! Here . . . take the trash can," Miranda said.

"No, it's gotta go in the toilet, man." Hudson went into the bathroom. A second later, he was hurling into the toilet bowl.

I was starting to feel a little sick listening. "Vasquez-" I gagged, "can we stop now?"

"No. This is getting interesting," Vasquez hissed.

"Whatever you say, dear."

"Are you OK?" Miranda asked.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Hudson yelled. "Not done . . ."

"I think they have Pepto-Bismol in the travel shop downstairs. Should I get some?"

"No. I'll be fine."

"Isn't she training to be a doctor?" Vasquez whispered.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Some doctor."

"Man, I didn't know the room was slightly tilted," Hudson said. We heard a _thump_ as he fell on the bathroom floor.

"Are you sure you're OK?" Miranda asked.

"Positive. Um . . . I just . . . need to lie down, man."

"He's gonna be sick as a dog come morning," I mumbled.

"Apone and Hicks will be pissed. He can't fly when he's hungover," Vasquez added.

There was silence for a few minutes. For a moment, I thought that they had fallen asleep, but then Hudson said, "OK, I'm ready. Help me with these pants. They're kinda tight."

"This is my first time," Miranda said. "I . . . I'm worried."

"Well . . . uh . . . I think Drake has protection in his bag. I'd go get one from him, you know, if that'd make you feel better."

"Where is he?"

"I think he's still down at the party. I'm not going anywhere, man."

Miranda opened the door, and gasped when she saw me and Vasquez leaning against the wall. I offered a grin. "My duffel bag is by the bed, right next door."

"Wait . . . are you guys listening to us?" Miranda balled her fists, and her face turned red.

"It was her idea." I pointed at Vasquez, who promptly grabbed the collar of Miranda's shirt.

"He agreed to this, right?!" Vasquez snapped.

"Yes! Yes, he did! Let go! I'm not trying to hurt him!"

Vasquez pushed her away, snarling "dirty whore" under her breath in Spanish.

"That was uncalled for," I said.

"You're not helping!"

"Of course I'm not! You're overreacting. Hudson's fine."

"He is not fine! You heard him throwing up in there!"

Hudson had managed to drag himself over, holding onto the doorway for support. "What the hell's going on out here, man?"

"They were listening to what we were doing," Miranda replied, adjusting her glasses.

"Why?"

"Jenette was afraid I was going to hurt you."

Hudson rolled his eyes, and leaned against the doorway, smiling while his gray eyes sparkled with drunkenness. "No one's getting hurt, man. Everything's good." He hiccupped, and then reached over to pat Vasquez's shoulder. "You two go on, and have some fun on your own, OK?"

Vasquez slapped him, then stormed down the hallway to her room. I shrugged, then went to my room to get some packets of protection for Hudson. "I'm only giving you three, so, don't get too rowdy," I said before leaving them alone. After Miranda slammed the door in my face, I headed to Vasquez's room, knocking on the door and saying, "You OK in there, sweetheart?"

"Drake, go away," she said.

"I'm not going away until you tell me what's wrong."

"You know what's wrong!"

"No, I think there's something else bothering you. Come on, I just wanna talk to you. I won't be annoying."

Vasquez opened the door, and closed it after I sat on the bed. "I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have done any of that."

"What? Yelling at Miranda, or-"

"Everything. I just . . . I-I really fucked up there."

"Well, I think we're all a little buzzed and we all let ourselves go tonight and . . . I guess we decided to ignore reality for a couple hours. I get it; our problems are there, all the time, and it feels like there's no other way to get away from it for a little while. Besides, it's not like your concerns were invalid. I don't want to see Hudson get hurt or Miranda get in trouble, or see them make a big mistake that could haunt them the rest of their lives. You think I want to see Hudson in my position?"

"Oh, come on. What could he do that would put him in your position?"

"OK, what if they didn't bring up protection? What if they went at it, no protection, period, and she got pregnant? You heard her story. She's going places with her career, and since she's just getting started, having an unplanned baby would put a real hindrance on that. And Hudson's the father. The USCM would get involved because he has an obligation to support his kid, emotionally and financially. Don't you think that, combined with the fact that his stupidity caused his girlfriend's career to be set back a few years, and the fact that he screwed up royally, would hurt him?"

"I don't think he'd become depressed like you."

"You don't know that. I bet you never thought Hicks could become depressed when you first met him."

"Hicks is very different from Hudson, and you know that."

"I'm just saying, just because somebody looks like they can't get depressed, doesn't mean they won't. Anyone can get depressed, no matter what their personality's like."

Vasquez fell silent. She rubbed her face, and sighed. "Drake, I'm sorry."

I put my arms around her. "Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for." I hugged her tight, and kissed her forehead. "I love you. Thanks for making it feel like even a sad fart like me can have a Christmas."

* * *

I'm getting down to the last few pages of this journal, so I'll try to make this relatively brief without skimping too much on the details.

In the morning, I went to Hudson's room, and found he was by himself, laying in bed, looking very ill. "Huh," I said, "Miranda left?"

"She left an hour ago, man," Hudson moaned.

"And? How was your night?"

"I can't remember much of it, man. Is somebody hitting my head with a hammer? Tell 'em to stop."

I ended up going downstairs to the travel shop to grab headache and stomach medicine for Hudson. It was mildly hilarious watching him decide which he wanted to take first, and he ended up deciding to take a swig of Pepto-Bismol so he could actually keep the headache pills down.

I really have no idea if that logic is correct. I'm only repeating what he said to me.

Eventually, Hudson felt better enough to tell me what happened last night. "Look, Miranda and I ended up talking a little after we did our business. I'm not sure how good a job I did. I mean, I can't really remember what happened, it's all kinda fuzzy. Anyways, I remember we talked after, and she said something like, 'This wasn't a bad experience. I'm not telling my parents about it, but it wasn't a bad experience.' I dunno, it just . . . I really dunno, man. I wish it wasn't a fucking blur."

"Maybe don't eat like a pig and drink five beers beforehand next time," I said.

"I know, man. I'll keep this in mind." He smirked. "That cookies and cream cake was great, though."

"And you threw it up."

"I did? Well, shit, man."

I nodded. "Yeah, you puked up a whole lot more than that, buddy. I really don't want to imagine what blue cheese and raspberry tarts and Oreo cake and guacamole and everything else you ate smell like all mixed together with stomach acid."

Hudson sighed, but at least he was able to laugh about it. "Man, I hit the jackpot and then threw it all up not too long after. That sucks. Anyway . . . I feel like I need to make it up to Miranda. I mean, that wasn't a date. Well, it was a date, but it wasn't a good date. We didn't even . . . We didn't even talk about some of the stuff we really needed to talk about, and . . . I guess you and Vasquez were right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this."

"That's not true. You got carried away. It happens to all of us. You made a mistake, but at least nothing terrible happened. Except, Miranda's not getting her virginity back."

"Yeah."

"And of all the men in the world, you're the one she had to lose it to."

Hudson's grin got bigger. "And that makes me feel special, man."

"Don't feel too special, because you certainly don't look the part."

"You're probably right."

Someone knocked on the door, and I got up to answer it. I was a little surprised to see Hicks, and even more surprised to see he was not in the mood for pleasantries. Even when he's wearing a bathrobe and holding a cup of coffee like an average guy, he had an air of authority, and neither of us questioned it.

"Is he hungover?" Hicks asked.

"Yep," I said.

"I thought so." Hicks glared at Hudson. "I got a few words for you. I don't want to see that kind of behavior again when we're at a party with the brass, you got that? In fact, I don't wanna see it again, period. You save that shit for when you're on leave, in civilian clothes, and at home. Don't give me this crap of 'everyone else was doing it.' No. You were the only one just guzzling beer, and being the definition of the word 'glutton.' _In front of General Russell and his staff._ I really hope you're ashamed of yourself, Hudson."

"Trust me, man, I'm ashamed," Hudson moaned.

Hicks sighed before turning his gaze to me. "Drake, can I talk to you downstairs?"

I followed him down to the breakfast bar, where he made us sit in a corner, away from everyone else.

"What were the four of you doing last night?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You, Vasquez, Hudson, and the civilian girl. You left the party and no one saw you for the rest of the night."

"Well, Vasquez was worried that Miranda was going to take advantage of a drunk Hudson. I went with her to try and convince her that wasn't the case because I know this girl, and . . . there was a fight between Miranda and Vasquez, and Hudson needed protection because . . ." _Oops, I just said something I shouldn't have._ "You know, he's dating Miranda and they decided . . . to do it."

"Oh, wow, so he decided to go ahead and fuck someone while in uniform. That's . . ." Hicks rubbed his face. "That's just great."

I felt like I dug myself (and Hudson) into a deep hole. "At least they were safe about it. And consensual."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"I'm telling you the truth."

"I hope you are. I'm not Mr. Nice Guy when I get wind that one of my Marines might've been raped."

"Look, I've seen a lot of shit like that in prison. I would've told you if something bad happened. Nothing like that happened. God's honest truth."

Hicks sighed. "Alright. I trust you, Drake. Believe me, if I found out you lied to me, you're gonna get in some serious shit. You want that on your fucking record? We took you out of prison, and we can just as easily put you back in-"

"I'm not lying to you! After all I've done for you, I don't appreciate you accusing me of lying to you."

"Fine. Drake, I'm sorry, I'm frustrated. I take shit like this seriously."

"I know, and it's good you do, but don't ever accuse me of lying to you after building so much in our relationship. Don't drag us back to square one. Square one wasn't pleasant or easy to get out of. I didn't like thinking that you didn't actually care about my problems, and I'm pretty sure you didn't like that I pushed you away, constantly. And you know what? Don't ever tell me that you can put me back in prison. I know you can, and I don't want to think about it."

One thing I've noticed is that whenever Hicks and I argue, he loses. Not because my point is better, but because he quits. I think he hates arguing with me because it's a reminder of how we were before he found out I have PTSD, and I found out he's struggled with his mental health in the past. He doesn't want to go back to that, because it reminds him of a previous unit he served in, where the atmosphere wasn't healthy, emotionally.

He runs from his past just as much as I do.

That shows me that he's still recovering. He hasn't beaten his personal demons yet. They're still there. Maybe they don't affect him as badly as mine, but they're still there, haunting him whenever they can.

I decided it was best not to argue further. It wasn't worth it right now.

* * *

After breakfast, I headed back upstairs once I found out where Miranda was staying. I felt like I'd be the best mediator for her and Hudson; they both trust me. Miranda didn't hesitate to let me in her room, and told me the full story of what happened last night.

Like Hudson, Miranda said that last night wasn't very memorable. She wished that he was more sober, and that they actually talked about the stuff on their minds beforehand. I wasn't all that surprised to learn that it was her idea for them to do it, but I figured it was a lot like how Hudson was drunk last night; they got carried away in a very blissful moment.

"He just wasn't initiating anything," Miranda said. "Even before he was drunk, he . . . didn't seem interested. So, I started touching his shoulders and his arms, and then he started taking notice."

"What do you mean 'initiating anything?'" I asked.

"Like . . . talking about how he feels or expressing that he's interested in me romantically."

"OK, hold the phone here, you do know that he's sorely inexperienced with shit like this, right? He's not gonna do that on the first real date. Hell, most people don't do that on the first date. The first date is where you get to know each other on a skeletal level. The first date is where you start to consider whether or not you feel you can go a step further with this other person. It doesn't matter that you've been writing back and forth for the last month or so; it doesn't beat a face-to-face conversation. You should've given him time. I've told you this just about every single time we see each other; don't rush into things. It doesn't help anyone. I get it. It's not something that's gonna happen overnight, but . . . just talk to Hudson next time you see him. You're not gonna cry, are you?"

Miranda shook her head, even though there were tears forming in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mark."

"Hey, no one got hurt. That's all that matters. You guys just need to talk to each other. I'm sure things'll work out in the end and maybe you'll go on to be a happy couple. Try to take things slower, OK?" I frowned, thinking back to when I first met her in D.C. "You don't . . . still have romantic feelings for me, do you?"

"No."

"Good. Vasquez would probably chuck you out the window."

"Why do you ask?"

"I dunno. I . . . I know I was the first guy you really felt like you had a good connection with, and you've been open with me about how people you've met since then . . . don't compare all that well to me. I really don't want you to use me as that model, I guess, and I hope I'm not on your mind whenever you're interacting with Hudson. I mean, we can be friends. That hasn't changed. We didn't actually date. I faked it, because I have a girlfriend whom I want to marry as soon as we leave the Marines."

"What would you have done if you weren't dating when we met?"

"I don't think we would've met at all," I sighed. "I think . . . things would be pretty different for me if I didn't have Vasquez. She's one of the reasons I haven't called it quits on life." A weak smile crossed my face. "You know you have someone special when they stick by you during the difficult times of your life. She bitches about it sometimes, but she's never wanted to break up with me. We're not perfect by any means. We have our arguments and fights and sometimes we need a break from each other, but at the end of the day, we love each other. I can always count on her when we're out in combat."

Miranda nodded a little. "You see a long future with her?"

"Yep. I think you'll find your special someone. Maybe it's Hudson, or maybe it's somebody else." I leaned in to whisper. "Personally, I hope it's Hudson. I think you guys have a lot to offer each other." I winked for good measure. "Go on, go talk to him. You'll be fine. He's really a big ol' teddy bear when he's sober."

* * *

I know that they did talk to each other for a little while before we had to leave. As of now, Hudson hasn't told me how the conversation went or whether or not he and Miranda are going to keep dating. The way he's acting on the plane right now, I'd say everything is going to be fine.

I can't say this is going to be the best Christmas ever-that's just cheesy and, well, it's not true. It could have been better. I wish it was being spent in a cozy house that I could call my own. I wish I didn't have to worry about my PTSD or relationships or anything else I'm trying to deal with right now.

When that day comes, I'll be happy. Then again, I feel like that's just too much to ask for.

* * *

 _Question: How does Drake's arc show during the incidents of the ball? What would be different if this had taken place before he started therapy?_

 _Author's Note: This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I like its blend of humor and seriousness, as well as the dialogue between characters.  
_

 _There were a lot of ideas and new plot points I wanted to introduce throughout this story, but many of them didn't make sense, or I just didn't feel like there would be room without oversaturating the original plot. However, I feel like "Red Ice" doesn't have a single main plot, but rather multiple plots fused together that lead up to the "Christmas special" portion. They were fun to work on, and gave each character a moment to shine (if that's the right word to use).  
_

 _To answer a question from Serene Fairy, this series takes place four years before "Aliens." There's still plenty more stories to come._


End file.
